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THE STORY OF 

TOM FOGARTY 

THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY 
OF A CRIMINAL. 




COPYRIGHT I9OO BY THOMAS SULLIVAN 



CANNOM 

153 LaSALLE STREET 

CHICAGO 

1900 



TWO COPIES RECEIVED, 

L jbrary Jf Congret% 
Gfflcs of th* 

^ MAY 12 1900 

•i ^ Siegutor of Copyright* 

SECOND COPY, 



59060 



INTRODUCTORY. 




IVING, as we are, under 
the searchlight of mod- 
ern journalism with its 
daily, nay, hourly, ac- 
count of the actual 
happenings in the. 
world around us, read- 
as we so often do, of 
arrest and occasional 
men, women and even 
children who are recognized, by those 
competent to judg'e, as professional crim- 
inals; it will be admitted, we believe, by all 
having the slightest knowledge of modern 
sociology, that there is a class, to be found 
especially in all the great cities of the 
world, whose whole life is a constant war 
against society. 

'Much has been written, and moire has 
been said, upon this subject. It has been 
the theme of the aiblast minds. Both pen 
and pencil have been employed with won- 
derful skill in depicting the surroundings 
of those w'ho follow law-breiaking as a 
profession. The public has been taken in- 
to the very homes of crime acrid shown the 
inner life of the dwellers in the Alsatia of 
our day. But, because of existing condi- 
tions, it has always been a look from the 



outside into a gloomy interior. And 
though the interior be lighted by the vivid 
imagination of a Bulwer or described by 
the facile pen of a Dickens or a Sue, yet 
by reason of early training or home en- 
vironment it is impossible for them tio en- 
ter fulty into the actual life .of a single 
member oi the class known as professional 
criminals. 

The class exists. Its existence is at once 
a shame and menace to society. The 
writer is thoroughly familiar with it, be- 
ing, unfortunately, to the manor born 
and having passed far more years than the 
average life of man as a member of this 
class in its various grades. Because of 
this fact, he feels competent to speak on 
this subject; not as a physician to offer 
a cure, but as one who inherited aud suf- 
fered from the disease of crime, but is to- 
daj% by God's grace, every whit whole. 

Divest yourself for a time of all preju- 
dice — 'all feeling of caste, that is so nat- 
ural whenever the subject of crime or 
criminals is approached. Put on a large- 
hearted amd Christ -like charity, and in the 
hope of ultimate good to all, let us go 
among these Ishmaelites and view their 
daily lives, not as lookers on in Venice, but 
as actual participants in the scenes. 



TOM FOGARTY. 

THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A CRIMINAL. 




A 



CHAPTER I. 
'All of which I saw, and part of which I was." 

half-hundred years 
ago, Central Lon- 
don wore a far dif- 
ferent aspect from that 
it wears today. Espec- 
ially that portion of it 
known as Westminster. 
The Almonry (or the 
"Hannbrey," as the 
Cockney delighted to 
call it), the old place 
of refuge under the 
shadow of the Abbey, 
had not been torn down 
to give place to the 
huge, modern hotel that today stands in 
its stead. The daylight and air that 
came into the slums with the cutting 
through of that great thoroughfare, Vic- 
toria street, was then unknown. The 
whole neighborhood from Westminster 
bridge to Tuthillnelds, and from Charles 
street to Great Peter street, was one 
awful nest of infamy and crime, whence 
brood after brood was sent forth to prey 
upon society. 



KINCH. 



6 TOM FOGARTY 

In those days on St. Anne's street, very 
near where Pie street entered it, there 
stood an old-time public house called "The 
Three Feathers." A few doors north was 
another old house differing from its neigh- 
bors both in height and general appear- 
ance. Its peaked windows were glazed 
with small diamond-shaped panes of glass 
in a leaden sash. It had a wonderful gar- 
ret running away up into the high-pointed, 
slate-covered roof. The rear part of the 
house was one story lower than tihe front, 
and the back part of the roof sloped 
away down toward the untidy, barren 
yard. Passing through the back window 
into the broad gutter, one found it an easy 
matter to drop to the ground below, or 
climb the adjoining houses on either side. 
Step into the shelter of this doorway a few 
moments with ine, and let us take notes. 

Horrible smell? Yes, that comes from 
the establishment in front of which we are 
standing. The rag doll, noisily creaking 
as it swings from the rusty iron bar over 
our heads, tells even more plainly than the 
faded letters of the painted sign over the 
door that here, Rags, Bones, Bottles and 
Old Iron are articles of 'merchandise. 
Have you anything else that you care to 
dispose of without any impertinent ques- 
tions being asked? 'Tis the standing boast 
of Brocky Quinn, the proprietor, that "no 
gent needn't never go no vhere else with 
nothink, pervidin' 'e's willin' to live and let 
live, and keep 'e's blooimin' mouth shut." 



TOM WGARTY ? 

A fine, oily, bloated specimen of the 
genus "fence" is Mr. Quinn. As the short 
November day is already drawing* to a 
close, we will defer our introduction to 
him to some future time. We shall prob- 
ably know him better (or irather, worse,) 
before this narrative closes. 

Across the way, the door of the "Feath- 
ers" swings open, and a boy eomes out. 
A sharp-featured lad, wearing, already, 
that peculiar expression of watchfulness 
in the eye that is only found in the face 
of a rat or a'hunted criminal. He is fairly 
but slovenly clad-, and moves with quiet 
swiftness. He enters our diamond-latticed 
house. Let us use our prerogative, and 
enter with him. 

The door opens on a narrow flight of 
stairs. Up these he goes two or three at a 
step, carefully holding something under 
his tight-fitting coat. 

Turning abruptly to the right, at the 
head of the stairs, he opens a door and is 
immediately met by the inquiry, embel- 
lished with an oath: 

"Wot kep' yer s'long?" 

The boy draws a large bottle of rum 
from under his coat and, without a word, 
places it upon the table near which two 
men are sitting, then slips quietly into a 
corner near the open fire-place. 

The speaker eyes him for a moment 
angrily, but his attention is called to his 
companion, who says: 

"Never imind the boy, Billy, he's all 



8 TOM FOQARTY 

right; open up that bottle and let's have a 
pull. Here, old woman, give us something 
to drink out of." 

A woman rises from the side of a bed 
upon which she has been sitting and, with 
a child upon her arm, walks over to a 
cupboard, brings out two tumblers and 
places them on the table beside the bottle. 
The larger of the two men rapidly fills the 
glasses, and as they lift them to their lips, 
let us glance at their surroundings. 

The room is very large, stretching from 
front to rear of the house. It evidently 
serves all the purposes of the household, 
being at once, bed-room, parlor and dining 
room. The furniture is fairly good, but 
appears to be made up of pieces taken 
from a dozen different sets, no two being 
alike in appearance or material. 

The attention is drawn to the large 
number of books that are scattered all 
over the room in careless profusion. They 
vary in size, but all have a peculiar family 
resemblance. There is a heap of them on 
the table; one large one is held open on the 
knee of one of the men; in fact, they are 
in evidence all over the room. 

The woman has resumed her seat on the 
bed, holding the baby closely to her breast, 
her eyes turning occasionally to the men 
at the table. She is slight of build, deli- 
cate of feature, with a gentle, quiet air 
about her that makes her seam out of 
place in this room. In age, she appears to 
be about thirty years, though there are 



TOM FOGABTY 9 

odd moments as she smiles down upon the 
child in her lap, when she seems much 
younger. Her face would be very comely 
under certain conditions, but her left 
cheek is marked with a scar running up 




'•they tremble pitifully as he raises the 

TUMBLER." 



and down from the cheek-bone to the 
mouth. 

Of the men sitting at the table, the 
larger of the two is evidently the master 
of the house. He is not a large man, but 
is built for strength. He is full and deep 
in the chest, and light in the flanks. His 



to TOM FOGARTY 

hands are well formed, and indicate great 
nervous strength, but they tremble piti- 
fully as he raises the tumbler. 

Looking upon the brow and noble 
breadth of forehead alone, one would have 
said: here should be a scholar— -a thinker, 
but the veins at the temple corded by pas- 
sion; the bibulous mouth and the lines of 
dissipation that mark the face, plainly in- 
dicate that here is one who is "passion's 
slave," whose life is worse than wasted. 

The other man is smaller and weaker 
by far. He might best be described as 
commonplace, were it not for the intense 
look of cunning and cruelty his features 
display. The close-set, restless eyes that 
almost touch each other; the wo If -like 
jaw, forever snapping nervousty at unseen 
morsels; the pointed ears, reaching so far 
above the line of the eyes, all help to give 
to his face an expression of crafty vil- 
lainy that renders it almost unique. There 
is a slight noise outside, and as he swiftly 
turns his face in the direction,' of the 
sound, the hunted look, barely percepti- 
ble in the boy's face, is brought out here 
to perfection. 

In various police courts throughout the 
land, he has answered to the name of Wil- 
lia/m Jackson. To his intimartes, he is 
known as Foxy Jackson, and they unblush- 
ingly speak of him to his face as the Fox. 
He reaches over to the bottle and refills 
his emptied glass. As be does so, the 
other speaks. 



V 



TOM FOOARTY 



ii 



"Well, now to finish this "dodge" before 
we get any more lusih in us. The name of 

the "cot" is Paul's Gray, it seems to 

me that stuff is very weak? He'd. better 
go to the Black Horse for the next 1 ' 

"Xo, don't yer think it," breaks in the 
Fox. "Yer carn't git anythink like es 




WILLIAM JACKSON, "THE FOX. 



good in their Black 'Orse. It's ther kid 
thet's done it." Turning sharply to the 
boy he asks: "Wotger git? Four p'ny?" 

"No," is the reply, "fi' penny, — wotger 
send me fur?" 

Jackson rises angrily to his feet with an 
oath bursting from his lips, but the other 



12 TOM FOOARTY 

man interposes. \Placing his band heavily 
on Jackson's shoulder, he says sternly: 
"Sit down and keep quiet. I>on't allow 
yourself to forget that you are in my 
room and my wife is present. If you want 
to whip the kid, do it at home." 

'T's orl 'right, Mr. Fogarty. I 'ope I 
knows wots doo to you and yer lady. But, 
jes wait till I giteher 'ome, Kinch; Hi'll 
show yer the diff'rence 'twieen fi'penny an' 
four-p'ny rum. See 'fi don't." 

The boy sits quietly in the corner, mere- 
ly looking fixedly at his father with con- 
tempt and anger marked on his weazened 
face. As the Fox ceases speaking, he 
turns toward the fire again. 

Fred Fogarty picks up the book he had 
dropped upon the table and, opening it, 
he resumes the broken thread of his ex- 
planations. 

"Now, if we're all right again, we'll get 
to work once more. 

"There can be no mistake — everything is 
straightforward and plain as a pike-staff. 
Give one that Court Guide, Kate." 

Mrs. Fogarty hands him a clean, red- 
covered book that she picks up from the 
top of a pile under the front window. 

"Here y'are. Edward Philpot Walpole," 
he reads, "057 Hanover Square. Country 
house; Mary's Cray, Kent, and Bally-Po- 
teen, Galway, Ireland. There's the whole 
thing in a nutshell. Have you got the 
certificate ?" 

"Yes," is the answer. "I've got it 'ere in 



TOM FOG ARTY 13 

this bit er pa v per. Wo-t's the name of ther 
brother at Paul's Cray, agin'? Maylock? 
Ho, yes, I'll write it down. There; John 
Maylock, butc'her. 'Es sister, Halice, was" — 

"Stop!" thunders Fogarty, springing to 
his feet with an oath. "Why, you drunken 
fool, you're getting worse. When you get 
a couple oif drinks in you, you can't remem- 
ber your own name. Her name is not 
Alice, but Sarah Maylock. Understand?" 

While speaking, the veins on his temples 
have stood out like whip-cords, and his 
wife, drawing t'he child closer to her, has 
moved away quietly to the other end of 
the room. We freely admit Mr. Frederick 
W. Fogarty is not an agreeable sight when 
angry. 

"Yes; I'm on orl right," says* Jackson, 
humbly. "B'fore she married the late 
diseast, she worked for this 'ere Walpole's 
harnt, Miss — vots 'er name? 'Old on, I 
know. Miss Halice at Mary's Cray. That's 
thirteen years ago; 's that right?" 

"Gro on; what about the Fletchers, her 
husband's people?" asks Fogarty. 

"Well, 'es people orl live at Paul's Cray. 
A brother of 'es married a relashun of the 
hundertaker Scott; 'nd there's Bunoe, ther 
grocer, 'nd Sweeny, t'her tailor, 'nd Eever- 
und Mister Hadams, as is rector. That's 
anuff fer hanybody, hain't it?" 

"It ought to be," says Fogarty, molli- 
fied. "Well, here is the Dodge. lit ought 
to bring five pounds. Don't coime back with 
less than two quid. Hold on, I'll age it a 



I 4 TOM FOQAETY 

li title. Kate, give me some bread." She 
hands him a piece' of bread. He opens 
out the large official-looking document, 
which is partly printed and partly written, 
with a huge seal in red wax upon it. He 
looks keenly at the list of naimes affixed 
to the lower portion, each apparently writ- 
ten in a different handwriting, in different 
colored inks and with various amounts set 
opposite eadh name. He appears satisfied 
as he lays it open on his knee and 
commences to rub it vigorously with the 
bread crumbs. In a short time it has lost 
its fresh appearance, and looks as if it had 
passed through many hands. Folding it 
up, he encloses it, together with a smaller 
letter, in a large envelope. Then, taking 
up a quill pen, which he tests carefully on 
another sheet of paper, he writes the di- 
rection on the envelope in firm, business- 
like characters. 

"There we are, all ship-shape. Now, 
home you go, Billy. Don't stop at the 
'Feathers.' Remember, I have other work 
for you tomorrow afternoon. I want you 
to go out to St. John's Wood with Welsfli 
Poll." 

"She tol' nxe," says Jackson, reaching 
again for the nearly empty bottle, "I'll go 
'ome farst e'nuff, 'nd I'll be ait 'Anover 
Square by 'arf 'arteir nine in the mo'rnin.' " 

"Oh, by the way," F'ogarty says, "they 
have a new man on at Red Lion Square*. 
His name is Fry or, and Billy Ashford told 
me today we would probably have to 



TOM FOG ARTY 15 

square him, so you had better save a few 
pennies, for you will surely meet, him be- 
fore imany days." 

(The Fox breaks out into fearful oaths 
and imprecations upon the heads of the 
Red Lion Square officials in general, and 
this one in particular. In the midst of it 
a heavy step sounds on the stairs, the door 
is pushed open, and a well-built, fresh- 
coin pi ex i one d man of about thirty, enters. 
He is dressed in the fatigue uniform of one 
of Her Majesty's regiments, and looks 
every inch a soldier. 

As he strides into the room with a word 
of greeting to those present, a little boy 
slips in behind him, and makes a futile at- 
tempt to reach the fire-place unnoticed; 
but Fogarty appears to have seen the child 
before he steps from be'hind the new- 
comer. Rising to his feet as if to greet 
the soldier, he steps lightly to the rig^ht, 
then, with a rapid motion of the arm. he 
grasps tlhe boy by the collar and with 
one swing sends him whirling and trem- 
bling over to the front window, while a 
faint cry, quickly suppressed, breaks from 
the mother's lips. 

"How are you, George?" says Fogarty, 
taking no more notice of the dhild, who 
begins to pick up and arrange the scat- 
tered books. "When did you get back 
and w^hat luck did you have?" 

"O, th' best o' luck, and I got back yes- 
terday," replies George. "'Ow are yer, 
Mrs. Fogarty? 'Ow's the baby? I met 



i6 TOM FOOARTY 

Tommie ait the corner o' Pie street," lie 
continues, "so we come in together. 'Ow's 
all your family, Billy?" 

"Oh, they're orl right, Mr. Biddle," says 
the Fox, "honly this 'ere Kinch. I carn't 
make nothink hout of 'im. I've done 
hevVvthink, and it don't do no good. Veil, 
I mus' toddle 'oune." 

With a parting* injunction to Kinch to be 
at home as soon as he is, the Fox takes his 
crafty visage out through the door, and 
glides almost noiselessly down the stairs 
and out into the dark, foggy streets. 

Rapid as his movements are, they are 
more than equaled by the boy, Kinch, who 
has followed him out, and who manages to 
keep very near him, though unseen in the 
fog. As he turns the corner of Orchard 
street, a few minutes later, he is imet by a 
heavily-built man who, with one word of 
greeting, steps quickly into a near door- 
way. Without a pause, Jackson proceeds 
on his way a few paces, then wheels 
abruptly, and retracing his steps — his 
eyes striving to pierce the fog on every 
side — he darts into the same entry, where 
he stands for one moment motionless and 
watchful. Apparently satisfied, he walks 
back into the passage, muttering a curse 
as he goes, and is swallowed up in the 
glooim. Had he but known that Kinch, the 
despised; Kinch, worthy son of such a 
sire, was close at his heels keenly observ- 
ant, Mr. Jackson's feelings would have 
undergone a marked change for the worse. 




CHAPTER II. 

'as the twig is bent." 

HAVE something for 
you," says Fogarty to 
Biddle, as the soldier 
stands chatting with 
Mrs. Fogarty. "I sup- 
pose you got my mes- 
sage. I sent word by 
Tinker Madden, who was go- 
ing down into Kent, and I 
told little Billy Pitts to tell 
you I wanted you." 
"Yes, I got word at Medstnn all right. 
The Tinker fetched me word. I couldn't 
come at once, 'cause I was on a lay for 
Dublin Carroll and 'es pal. They pulled it 
orfr* 'nd I made five quid hout of it." 

"Let's go down to the Feathers for a 
wihile," says Fogarty abruptly. "Come 
here, Tom. Kate, give him both those 
lists. Look them up," this to the boy who 
stands silent and attentive "and then 
go to bed. When I come home I may have 
something to say to you. Come on, 
George." 

As they go down tihe stairs together the 
boy, Tom, moves over to his mother's knee 
and as she sits on the bedside he leans 
lightly against her. He is but a child, only 
in 'his tenth year, yet so old in sin, so old 
in knowledge of vice and crime, though a 
novice, as yet, in its practice. 



i8 TOM FOGARTY 

The mother's arm swings around; the 
boy's form, and for one short moment it 
seems as if both were going to break down 
in tears. The moment passes, and as the 
boy turns his face to the light, let ins 
examine his features. A wonderfully pre- 
cocious head. A head so fully developed 
about the temples and forehead, that its 
appearance is abnormal. Yeit how very 
weak the whole of the lower face? How 
easy to read there the inexorable sen- 
tence, "Unstable as water thou shalt not 
excel." Tom Fogarty, any little lad, as 
you stand there beside your mother's knee, 
knowing what we do of your environment, 
we are compelled to say that your lot in 
life is not 'an em viable one. 

While we are musing, the boy has taken 
the list froim his mother, laind is now work- 
ing away aimong the books. He dips into 
one marked "THE HOME COUNTIES." 
Turns to a paper and rapidly scribbles 
down some names. Taking up another 
with the title, "MIDLAND COUNTIES," he 
goes through the same operation. Anon 
he selects "BUKKE'S PEERAGE," and 
wades through name after name of the 
nobility, jotting down one occasionally on 
a sheet of paper. And so ihe goes on for 
hours. He appears to „ enjoy the work, af- 
ter he has got started. Now and then he 
pauses to answer some question asked by 
the mother, or tell of some exciting event 
of the day. It is very evident that mother 
and son understand and love each other, 



TOM FOGARTT 19 

despite the character of their life and sur- 
roundings. Again he leaves his work and 
strives, successfully, to quieten and 
amuse the fretful baby by little playful 
antics 'and songs. But he returns each 
time to his task with seemingly increased 
vigor and works on industriously down 
the long list of names, whistling, under his 
breath, an accompaniment to the lullaby 
song of the mother. What is he doing? A 
difficult question, but we will strive to 
give a lucid answer to it. 

Among the various grades oir sub-classes 
into which professional criminals the 
world over are divided, there dis one that 
is known <a;mong tiheimis elves as "Lurkers." 
In London, a regular bureau of detective 
police is maintained for their detection 
and conviction. This is the famous Men- 
dicity Society of Red lion Square. They 
(the lurkers) are strongly banded to- 
gether. They woirk together. How do 
they work? Here is one case for example: 
Alexander Percy Smythe Ashfellows, late 
of Eton, has just been gazetted as ensign 
or cornet in a crack regiment. He has 
taken chambers in the Albany, and has al- 
ready the entree to several clubs. TYesfh 
from the schools, Tie is eagerly taking in 
every thing in town. 

One morning his valet announces a lady 
caller, "Mrs. Watson, of Bedfont." "Bed- 
font? Why, that is right near home. Show 
her in," says simple Alexander. Enter a 
middle-aged woman, wearing the garb of a 



20 TOM FOGAUTY 

widow and looking' like one oif the better 
class of house servants. 

Addressing him as Young Master Alex- 
ander, she immediately pours into his as- 
tonished ears a number of questions con- 
cerning- Hat ton, his 'home, and its immedi- 
ate vicinity. She asks him how long it is 
since he wlas there — iaisks if Brown, the 
blacksmith, is married again, as she 'ad 
'eard as'ow 'es fust wife wos dead. Then, 
before he can -answer, she rushes him oveir 
to Bedfont, where his Aunt Smythe lives. 
She even recalls to his memory the name 
of tftie cooper in whose shop he cut his 
hand so badly during that vacation hie 
spent at his aunt's place at Bedfont. "Dear 
me, how long ago that seemis tlo be. Why, 
this is splendid." Then when he begins, in 
the warmth of his heart, to ask all man- 
ner of questions, he finds out that the man 
she married, and for whom she left her 
pleasant country home, h'as just died after 
a long illness, leaving her .almost desti- 
tute. This much he gathers froan her 
rapid talk as she occasionally wipes away 
a tear. Of course, she could go back 
home, but certain people who knew her 
husband have been very good to her. An 
opportunity has presented itself for her to 
purohaise the stock and fixtures of a small 
store, just in the line for wihioh she is 
best adapted. 

Sonne kind friends have smarted a sub- 
scription in her behalf and "would you 
b'lieve it, Marster Halexander, they've 



TOM FOGARTY 21 

'orlmos' got the 'ole amount horlready. 
'Ere's ther list, you see, sir, with orl ther 
names an' amounts, an' I was goin' " — 

"Let's have a look ait it," says tender- 
ih ear ted Alexander. "John Jermyn, £ 5," 
he reads. "Lady Ellen Blixby, 3 guineas. 
Miss Mum-mum. Eh! Wihat's this? 'Cap- 
tain and Mrs. Grniswold, £5' Why, look 
here, Mrs. Watson, Captain Griswold; why, 
you know, he is one of ours. Eh? Why, 
certainly. How much <are you short? Oh, 
is that all?" And then, although the do- 
ings of the last few weeks have very nearly 
drained 'him, yet, in such a good cause, 
with his Captain's example before hinij 
and her coming from home, as it were; 
out comes the little check-book on Drum- 
mond or Coutts and a check for enough to 
cover the shortage, with, perhaps, a couple 
of pounds over, soon bears the signature 
of our very young friend, Alexander. Mire. 
Watson allows very little time to elapse 
before the check is presented and* cashed. 

Meanwhile, our little friend, Tom Fogar- 
ty, is busily engaged looking up new facts 
and new names for Mrs. Watson, or others 
of that ilk, to present to other Alexanders. 
How easy, how simple, when the news- 
papers and directories furnish all the in- 
formation needed. This is only one phase 
of lurking, but while the details vary, the 
manneT 0)i procedure is about the saane, 
and the results identical. 

At last, Tom has completed his task, and 
his muttered "There, that's done," brings 



22 TOM FOGABTY 

an answering* smile from mother. He now 
sits "bent over at the table very 
intently reading a dilapidated paper- 
covered book that he has drawn forth 
from an inner pooket. Mrs. Fogarty 
has spoken to him more than once, telling 
him that he had better go to bed before 
the father's return, but he reads on, barely 
answering her gentle requests or suggest- 
ions. She is reclining on the bed, and ap- 
pears to be dozing. Everything is so 
quiet, that one may hear the strains of 
the chorus they are singing in the tap- 
room of 'the Feathers. 

"Cheer, Boys, Cheer," they sing, "No 
More of Idle Sorrow." Certainly not; why 
think any more of sorrow while the quart 
pots of beer are being passed from hand to 
hand. Poor, faded little woman lying 
there counting the hours; their singing 
brings but little comfort to your weary 
heart. 

Look at the boy! A moment since he 
was so deeply immersed in the book that 
he appeared as one dead or asleep. See 
him now. What is it? What has changed 
him so in an instant ? He has barely raised 
his head a few inches without moving his 
body, and yet every inch of him seems to 
be instinct with watchful attention. Slow- 
ly and carefully he turns his ihead and 
looks keenly at his mother's form. A faint 
creaking on the landing outside and, like 
a flash, he is up and away to the rear win- 
dow, which he quietly unfastens. Then, 



Tom fooartt 



n 




24 TOM FOGARTY 

as the door opens suddenly, and three men 
push their way into the room, evidently 
expecting' to 'meet resistance, Tom, with 
one comprehensive glance iat the men, al- 
most unconsciously noting in the same 
moment the white faioe of his mother, 
startled frO>m her doze — how vividly the 
scar shows now against that pale face — 
slips quietly out into the gutter and the 
foggy darkness of the nigthit. 

The well-to-do, respectable citizen, sit- 
ting in his comfortable home at ease, with 
his favorite paper before him, reads, with 
a shudder of horror, the awful record of 
youthful depravity and crime that blots 
its daily pages. Looking around at his 
own little ones; fenced in, as they are, by 
the loving, watchful care of the mother, 
and trained by his daily precept and ex- 
ample, he marks their growth, and the 
promise of future right living that is in- 
dicated by their present daily life and 
conduct. His heart is tilled with thank- 
fulness to Almighty God for blessing him 
with such dutiful and good-dispositioned 
children, while he wonders how it is pos- 
sible for these others to be so utterly 
vicious and depraved. 

How can we expect other results from 
the conditions prevailing? Born, as so 
many of them are, into an atmosphere of 
vice and crime; cursed ere their birth by 
the evil lives and habits of their parents; 
surrounded in childhood by bad example 
and even lawless teachings, what must be 



TOM FOQARTY 25 

the natural effect from such vile causes? 
The wonder is that such a horrible state 
of affairs should be permitted to exist and 
even flourish in the shadows, while the 
rest of the world goes gaily and heedless- 
ly forward boasting of the light of the 
glorious gospel of Christ. 

God speed the day when every Christian 
shall recognize the danger that surrounds 
his own home and loved ones, as long as 
this cesspool of immorality is permitted 
to taint the air with its death-dealing 
foulness; and when all shall thoroughly 
know the application of those words of 
Jesus: 

"Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of 
these, ye did it not to me." 

!AJh, me. Boor little Tom. So very young 
in yeans; so old and wise in sin. God pity 
you -and all of yo*ur kind. 

The heavy, London fog has settled 
like a sombre pall, covering every- 
thing with its mantle of darkness, but 
Tom needs no light, for the task before 
him, as he slides rapidly down the slate- 
covered roof into the gutter. He is 
familiar with every inch of the way. Time 
and again has hie gone over it for amuse- 
ment; heedless of his mother's gentle re- 
proof; risking his father's tanger and the 
punisihment it entailed. He findsi the 
practice useful now, and as he hurries 
along the gutter, he laughs inwardly, and 
his heart glows within him as he thinks 
of the oppoTt unity he has to help thwart 



26 TOM FOGARTY 

the plans of the common enemy, the offi- 
cers of justice. 

Now, he is at the corner and, without a 
moment's hesitation, he grasps the heavy 
spout and swings off into space. There is 
no danger; his foot finds the ledge that en- 
ables him to let go above and gain new 
hand-hold lower down. So — with hand an:l 
fooit taking every advantage offered, he 
easily and safely reaches the ground. 
Without .a moment's loss of time he is up 
and over the walls that intervene, and, in 
less time than it has taken to record the 
fact, he stands breathless but exultant, at 
tihe back door of the tap^room of "The 
Feathers." 

•Someone has jusit finished a song, and 
the quart pots are rattling on the tables 
in applause, or as a sign that they need 
replenishing. Under cover of the din, Tom 
opens the door and slips in unnoticed. 
The air is dense with fog and tobacco 
smoke, and fairly reeks with a stench that 
is a compound of sawdust, stale beer and 
filth. 

On the north side of the room, near the 
open fire-place, there is a Wide, heavy 
door, covered with green-baize and studded 
with brass-headed mails. Tom, after a 
rapid glance ait the noisy occupants of the 
tap-roosm, walks boldly over to this door 
and, pushing it open, he enters <a short, 
dim-lit passaige. On through a smaller 
door <at the farther end he goes, and stands 
in the presence of his father. 




CHAPTER HI. 

THE TRIO AT THE FEATHERS. 

p~~] HERE are three men in 
the room, seated at a 
table. As the door 
swings open, two of 
them start hurriedly 
to their feet. Recog- 
nizing* the boy, how- 
ever, one of them slowly seats himself 
again. 

"Wfhat's up, Tom?" says Fogarty. As 
he asks the question, George Bid die tighit- 
ens his belt and moves toward a smaller 
door in the corner of the rooim. 

"Cops in the 'ouse," is the boy's answer. 
Then he rapidly relates his story, while 
every nerve in his body seems to throb 
with delight because he feels that he is 
aiding in the defeat of the representatives 
of the law. 

"What does this mean, Brocky? This is 
a new caper." Fogarty, as he speaks, turns 
his eyes on the coarse, ill-looking 
man Who has just settled back into 
his chair, watchful and attentive of every 
word and action of the others. His 
bloated, pendulous cheeks are deeply 
scarred from ttihie ravages of small-pox. 
His whole form is indicative of gross nesis 
and sensuality, the evil effect of which is 
further heightened by tihe vicious gleam of 
Ms deep-sunken, be^ady eyes. 



28 TOM FOQABTY 

Without rising", he turns his face liabor* 
iously towards Tom and, in a hoarse, 
wheezy tone, he asks : 

"Vos they Bed Lion Square, Tommy?" 

The boy look's at his father as he an- 
swers quickly and with decision: 

"No, they're Peelers." 

Fogarty and Biddle look knowingly ait 
each other. 

"Yeir sure they didn't git onto yer oomin' 
'ere?" asks the soldier of the boy. 

"Trust him for that," says Fogarty. 
"Besides, if they 'had piped him off, they'd 
be at his heels when he catnue in here. I 
suppose it's you they're after. They must 
have been on the lay for you, and saw you 
enter my place." 

Turning* to Mr. Quinn, he continues: 

"I can't understand, for the life of me, 
how a shadow could work on St. Anne's 
street without some of your kids giving 
you the word. What's the matter with 
your force? If you're losing your hold, I 
want to know it." 

"Now, Fred — er — that is— Mr. Fog-arty, 
don't you go for to think nothink like that. 
Hl've got cm y heyes out orl rigftit near 'oune, 
and this 'ere pindh — if 'tis a pinch — is bein' 
worked by sum-main hlinisidie, who give the 
orfice that George w r as hup at yo'ur 'ouse, 
and not by no houtsider or shadder." As 
Quinn wheezes out these remarks, he at- 
tentively watches the faces of his hearers. 

"Nothin' of ther kind! There carnt no- 
body 'ave done no such ithing," protests 



TOM FOGARTY 



29 




30 TOM FOGARTY 

the soldier. "I w@s werry careful about 
that, and didn't leave 'ome till near dark. 
B'sides, w'en I got hover the bridge 'twas 
so foggy you couldn't see yer 'and afore 
yer, and I'd like to see anybody shadder 
me such a hevenin' as this is." 

Fog-arty lifts the half-filled glass of 
liquor from the table and slowly sips its 
contents, while his face indicates that he 
is engaged in serious thought. 

"Did anyone see you down there at 
Maidstone?" he asks of Biddle. "Can 
they rap to you if you gelt pinched ?" 

"W'y, yes, course they can. I was in th' 
'ouse at Meds'tun a talkin' to their slavey a 
'arf dozen times or .more. I took 'er 'nd a 
friend of 'ers, wots 'ousemiaid in a 'joinin' 
'ouse; I took 'em both to tiher theayter a 
couple o' timies; but that don't signerfy 
nothink. Hi've got nid of ther swag 'nd 
nobody never saw me witlh either Carroll 
or Blacky down there. B'sides, I was at 
Chatham the nig'ht the trick was turned. 
That I can prove." 

"Hi dlon'it see no reason for worryin' " 
breaks in Quinn. "Yon aint pinched yet, 
'nd as ther kid didn't 'ear no maimes 
named, p'r'aps they're arrrfter summun 
helse. One thing's sure, tlhey carn't nap to 
the stuff 'cos hit went hlnter ther imeltin' 
pot afore I come ihover 'ere." 

Young Tom has 'picked up a "Times" 
from the table and sits apparently ab- 
sorbed in its contents, but, in reality, he 
has been taking in every word. 



TOM FOG ARTY 31 

Young' though he is, yet his education 
along* carta in lines hais been so thorough 
that he has no difficulty in understanding 
that a burglary has been committed a;t 
Maidstone, in Kent. That "Soldier George," 
because of his captivating appearance, has 
been sent down ahead to make the ac- 
quaintance of the servant-maids and ob- 
tain the necessary information as to the 
place of deposit of various valuables, also 
as to the easiest and surest road to get at 
them. He knows that the swag, or plun- 
der, has been divided, and that George has 
turned his share over «to Mt. Quimn, who 
has paid for it and placed it in his melt- 
ing pot. A truly wonderful pot it is, too. 

Once, some few monthis before this, 
through the good offices of his pal, Kin eh 
Jackson, Tom was /permitted to look down 
into Brocky's laboratory when the melt- 
ing process was goiing on at full blast. 

The boys were in iimmiinent danger at 
the moment, for had Quimn discovered 
them, the result would have been broken 
bones, at the lea'st. lYet, at the thought 
of the sight of the silver bowls, pitchers 
and other articles of value, that he saw 
curl up and melt before this astonished 
eyes tha»t night, he longs for another peep 
at that pot, despite the danger. 

Foga.rt}' pulls a bell -rope itha't is pendant 
from the center of the ceiling, then turn- 
ing to the others says: 

"Well, I'm going to have another, and 
then I'm off home, Kate knows bow to 



32 TOM FOGARTY 

stand those fellows off." Then to the pot- 
boy, who comes, in .answer to his ring: 
"Bring me another half -quartern o' rum, 
warm with — whiat'll yon have ?" 

George orders "the same," but Quinn 
apologetically says they must "^excuse" 
him, and begins to wheeze out his reasons 
for not drinking any more, but he is cut 
sho:rt by Fogarty who says, with an oath: 

"There— that'll do. Drink, or let it 
alone; only shut up about it, and don't 
spoil other people's pleasure with your 
croaking." 

Quinn rubs his fat, oily Tilands together 
and chuckles noisily, as if enjoying a good 
joke; but tlhere is a snaky gilittier in his 
little beady eyes as they turn to Fogarty, 
tihait .bodes no good for that individual 
should opportunity offer. 

The liquor is brought and drunk, and is 
paid for by Quinn, despite a rather feeble 
protest on the part of Fogarty. Then, af- 
ter »a few words of council as to the best 
course to be taken by Diddle, Fogarty, 
calling Tom to 'his side, passes into the 
passage through the smaller door and out 
to the street without entering the cnxnvd- 
ed tap-room, where the noisy revelers are 
still making t!be night hideous with tlheir 
ribald choruses. 

"Did .you know either of 'em, Tom? T 
suppose you didn't stay to get a good look 
at 'em," says the father as they step into 
the gloomy street. 

"I only know they was Peelers," is the 



TOM FOOARTY 33 

reply, "and one of 'em used to be" he 

pauses, and the pressure of his little 
fingers on the hand of Fogarty causes that 
worthy to instantly pull him into the 
nearest door-way, as he asks in a low, 
sharp tone, "What's up?" Before Tom 
oan reply, young- Jackson steps out of the 
fog- from behind them with the question, 
"His there a pinch hup at your 'ouse?" 

"Yes," answers Fogarty. "Why?" 

" 'Cos I knowed there would be, and 
hi've been pipin' a fly -collar wots s tannin' 
hover in front of Brocky's a watehin' your 
'ouse for the larst 'arf 'our." 

Fogiarty draws both boys deeper into the 
passage-way, and with a few skillful ques- 
tions learns from Kindt all he has seen 
and all he has surmised as to his father's 
meeting with the strangers on Orchard 
street. 

Then, grasping To-m tightly by the arm, 
with hard-set jaw and a firm, stern look 
of determination on his whole face, he 
goes on his way to face the invaders of his 
house. 

Young Jackson and Tommy barely touch 
each other -as they part, yet each one 
knows that the other, like himself, is over- 
joyed at the prospect of seeing a row. 

Excellent speclim'ens of youthful preco- 
city. Crooked twigs in the plantation of 
society. 




CHAPTER IV. 

BOWDERS CAPTURES HIS MAN. 

ON'T be afraid, Mrs. 
Fogarty," says the 
leader of the men who, 
s o unceremoniously, 
entered her room. 
'Don't be afraid. We 
don't want you, nor 
Fred." 

His quick glance over the apartment 
takes in the .window left open by Tom. 
With an inward curse at his own stupidity 
and neglect, he turns a look full of mean- 
ing at one of his subordinates, who, im- 
mediately, hurries down the stairs. 

"What is your business here, men?" asks 
Mrs. Fogarty. "I see that you are police- 
men, but that doesn't justify you in enter- 
ing a private dwelling <in this manner. If 
Mr. Fogarty were here, jiou wouldn't have 
dared to force your way in as you have." 
"Beggin' your pardon; yes we would, 
Mrs. Fogarty," returns the officer. 

"We ain't a goin' to do you no 'arm, but 
we're arfter Soldier George, and we 'ad 
hinformation that he was 'ere. 

"Sit down, mum," he continues, "and 
don't you think, for a minute, that we're 
goin' to 'urt you. But I'd like to harsk 
you *ow long is it sence George left 'ere?" 
iMrs. Fogarty has seated herself: as he 
ceases speaking, she says: 



TOM FOGARTY 35 

"You haven't been long* on the force or 
you'd know better than to ask me suclh 
questions. George, as you call him, is not 
here. You can satisfy yourself of that 
fact by examining' the rooim, then I will 
ask you to leave, as I expect my husband 
home shortly, and there will probably be 
trouble if he finds you here." 

"That's orl right," is the reply; we'll run 
the chances on that. 'Ow long did George 
stay 'ere? Come, Mrs. Fogajrty, you know 
we aint got no hillwill 'gainst Mr. Heff — 
it's the hother way. We rarther hadmdre 
'im; so you don't 'ave to fear that hany- 
thimk we learns from you will do 'im 'arm. 
Quite contrariwise, mum, it'll honly 'elp 
'im." 

Knowing the fierce, ungovernable tem- 
per of her husband, and expecting, every 
moment, to hear the sound of his return- 
ing footsteps, she can only press more 
closely to her form the baby she is hold- 
ing, and strive to steady herself by hum- 
ming a lullaby to the child. 

"Did he go hout with Fred, mum?" asks 
the officer. 

" "Since you say some one informed you 
that he came in here, you'd better ask — " 

Ait this moment a shrill whistle sounds 
from the street below. Without waiting 
to hear the rest of her words, both men 
make for the door and go lumbering 
heavily diown stairs. A't the street en- 
trance they meet Fogarty who, hailing the 
leader by the name of Bowders, curtly de- 



36 TOM FOG ARTY 

mauds of him the meaning- of their visit. 
Bowders attempts to explain that they 
were not looking foir him — -that they were 
rather disposed to be friendly to him — 
that they had heard that a party they 
wanted had been there — 'but ! he will listen 
to none of their explanations. He, 
brusquely, orders them out; telling' them, 
with oaths, to emiphasize the words, the 
reception they would have got had he been 
at home, and what they might expect 
should their visit be repeated. 

"If you want anybody or anything, in 
my house, come, with proper authority, 
and get it: but if you, Bowders, or any 
other iman, tihink you can wialk into my 
place at your own sweet will, just try it on 
and see w<here you'll come out." 

He turns from them as he utters these 
words and walks leisurely up-stairs w 7 here 
his wife, with Tom by her side, stands lis- 
tening intently, expecting and fearing* to 
hear sounds of a conflict from below. 

As Fogarty enters the room he asks: 
"Is there any lush in the house, Kate?" 

She replies neg'ativety; then he hands 
the boy a coin, saying: "Go get a quartern 
or rum: go to the 'Black Horse' for it." 

Picking up a bottle from the shelf, the 
boy is half-way down Stains When he hears 
the command: 

"•Mind, don't waste any time, and g-o to 
the Black Horse." 

Across the street he gpoes, just in time 
to see Brocky Quinn entering his domicile. 



TOM FOGARTY 37 

As he turns the corner of Pie street, out of 
the fog comes Kinch wit!h the greeting-: 

" 'Alio, Tommy; where yer goin'?" 

"Black 'Orse for lush," says Tom — 'then — 
"Say, Kinch, wotger do with that stook I 
give yer? That was a good hankercher, 
hn' yer ort to got 'nough fer it to take us 
to tlier theayter. Did yer fence it?" 

"Oh, hi've got irid oif that 'orl right. Hold 
Mother Heffron give me a bob for it. 
'Ere's 3 r er tanner, Tommy," is the reply, ae 
he pushes a sixpence into Tom's hand, 
" 'nd if yer git a chance at hamytihink else, 
why hi'll git orl its wuth for yer for it. 
Yer know w'en I wos hup at your 'ouse 
this harfternoon? Well, just afore I come 
in I pinched a pair o' ho pry glasses from a 
bloke over near the bridge. I wos look in' 
at 'em a bnildin' ther new clock tower 
w'en 'ere comes a bloke with a 'ole load o' 
stuff — 'twas a reg'lar gift 'f I'd honly "ad 
you or summun ihelse to stall for me. IT1 
plarnted 'em to keep the hold man from 
collarin' 'em if I showed 'em hup." 

"Wish I'd been there." says Tom, regret- 
fully. " 'Ere, you keep ther tanner for me, 
Kinchey, hi'll git it s'mother time. Say! 
wot d'yer spose they'll do with yer hold 
man if Soldier George is collared? D'yer 
spose they'll croak 'im?" 

"I do' know, an' wots more, I don't care. 
He's always. at me. He thinks I aint no 
good, but I'll show 'im afore long. I'm 
goin' down by 'The Feathers' agin, to see 
wot's hup." 



38 TOM FOGARTY 

Jackson takes the sixpence and slinks 
away into the fog, while Toim opens the 
door of the Black Honse, pushes his way 
through the crowd up to the counter 
where he orders and receives the rum, 
then hurries back toward home; pausing 
for an instant in the shadow of a doorway, 
to take a sip of the rumr— then onward 
again with widely-opened mouth, to rid 
himseLf of the smell of the liquor. 

Just as he reaches the door of his home, 
there comes to his ears the sound of 
hurrying footsteps behind him. As he 
turns on the step, -a man, whom he recog- 
nizes as Biddle, darts by, closely followed 
by -another who whistles .shrilly as he 
goes. The call is answered, both from 
ahead and from the rear, and almost in- 
stantly from the front comes the sound of 
oaths and blows and all the noise of a 
violent struggle. 

Tom does not hesitate but, with a yell 
pealing from his lips — a cry that is recog- 
nized, day or night, <as a rallying call by 
the denizens of the quarter — he runs to- 
ward Orchard street and is soon at the 
scene of the difficulty. 

The hour is very late, and the night is 
fo^gy amd damp, but that seems to have 
no effect on ifche curiosity of the neighbors. 
From every doorway and alley they have 
poured forth at the first sound of a con- 
flict, and, quick tbougih Tom is, he finds a 
small imob already gathered about the 
principal figures as he comes up. 



TOM FOOARTY 39 

" 'Alio, Tommy," says Kinch Jackson, 
bobbing- up from nowhere, and speaking 
in evident enjoyment, "Hit's Soldier 
George, 'nd they've got the darbies on 'im 
'orlready." 

Pushing his way into the crowd and 
peeping through, he sees Biddle with his 
head bleeding and his hands tightly locked 
in hand-cuffs, just being raised 'to an up- 
right position by one of the officers, while 
three or four others are striving by word 
and blow to keep back the cursing, threat- 
ening crowd. Two of the policemen are 
dressed in the regulation uniform, the 
others are in plain clothes, but their occu- 
pation and position is known at a glance 
to the youngest there. Making free use 
of their clubs, and at the same time ap- 
pealing to some of the mob 03^ name with 
threats of future justice, t'he officers, hold- 
ing George well in their midst, move slowly 
up tihe street. 

As the crowd circles about them, each 
moment growing larger and noisier, little 
Tom and Kinch are again brought side by 
side. 

"Your hold man," says Tom satirically, 
"won't catch it nor nothink. Kinchey, for 
this. Oh, no!" 

"Hi 'ope so, with orl my 'art," replies t>he 
boy. "I 'ates a squealer." 

"W'ot's that?" says a burly, hard-faced 
man, as he grasps Tommy and Kinch by 
their collars, "who squealed. Kinch, and 
whose kid is this?" 



4Q TOM FOGARTY 

"You'd better let 'im alone; that's Tom- 
my Fogarty," answers Kinch. " 'Es father 
'ell look arter yer if yer hinterferes with 
'im." "Who squealed?" he continues. 
"Why, I seed my hold man a talkin' with" 
— but his mouth is covered by a hand that 
shuts off the rest of the sentence and the 
voice of Fred Fogarty breaks dn: 

"That's all right. That's enough of that, 
Bob, this is no place for such news. I have 
heard it already, and so shall you before 
long." -Then turning from the man to 
Kinch he goes on: "You say no more about 
this matter till I tell you, Kinch, or I'll 
get rafter you; d'ye understand?" 

Without waiting for an answer he forces 
his wiay through the crowd and quietly 
accosts the officer. 

After a very few words quickly spoken 
to Bowders and to George Biddle, Fogarty 
turns and begins to drop a word here and 
there in the throng with the result that, 
almost immediately, the^ -crowd rapidly 
thins and seems to melt away in the 
fog. 

Tom had flown home at the fir sit sound 
of his father's voice, and now waited his 
return in fear and trembling. After look- 
ing carefully, but in vain, among the dis- 
persing crowd for a sight of the boy, Fo- 
garty turned his footsteps also homeward, 
a>nd in a very short space of time St. Annes 
street resumes its normal condition. 



CHAPTER V. 

How much more easily and graphically one can 
write or speak of others than of one's self, How 
difficult it is to say that the word spoken, or the 
deed done, was "mine." compared with the effort 
required in saying 'twas "his." 

I, Tom Fogarty, wish it were possible for me to 
write the actual story of my eventful life, in a 
vivid, lucid manner, from an impersonal stand- 
point. This I cannot do.' In order that the scenes 
and incidents of my career may be portrayed in a 
lifelike and truthful narrative, it becomes neces- 
sary that I should assume the burden of author- 
ship and write no longer as little Tom, but I. 



CANNOT determine at 
what early period of my 
life I first learned that 
society and society's 
guardians, the police, 
were to be regarded as 
hostile. The feeling that it 
was so, grew up with me. 
The talk that I listened to, 
the example of the lives and 
acts of all with whom I caime in contact; 
my home life and surroundings; all, every- 
thing tended to imbue me with the idea 
that, like Ishmael of old, I must expect, 
through life, to find the hand of every man 
turned against me; and that mine must be 
active against them. 

My very earliest recollection is of a day 
that, to me, had a certain semblance of 




42 TOM FOQARTY 

holidiay character about it. I remember, 
very distinctly, being petted and feasted 
on fruit by some policemen in a place 
which I afterward knew to be a police 
court. I can, even now, recall t«he parting 
with father and mother as they were led 
behind the grating. They were both sen- 
tenced to a short term in prison — I have 
no memory of its length — while I was 
taken to the work-house. Some years 
after this, the work^house w^as moved over 
to York street, but at that time it was 
situated on Orchard street. Dickens, with 
his wonderful pen, has pictured the work- 
house of that day, and 'has held both it 
and its beadle, in the person of Mr. Bum- 
ble, up to the scorn and execration of the 
reading public for all time, but I cannot 
pass without a few words as to my resi- 
dence in this place. 

On arriving, I was taken across a large 
grass-covered yard which was surrounded 
on all sides by high buildings of brick, and 
was placed in the care of an elderly man 
who was dressed in the w^ork-house uni- 
form. He led me into a bath room, laid 
out some clothes for me to put on, and 
told me to undress. I well remember how 7 
much I admired the bright, leaden buttons 
on his coat, and in spite of my awful fear 
of the bath tub full of water, I w r as eager 
to get through so that I might w T ear just 
such clothes. 

Perhaps, if it were not for the brutality 
and cruelty of this attendant, I might have 



TOM FOOARTY 



43 



forgotten the work-house episode, but I 
never can forget the horrible time I spent 
in that tub. (Seeing my hesitation, as I 
slowly drew off the last of my clothes, he 
came hobbling over to me and, lifting me 




LAUGHING BOISTEROUSLY A<; I TRIED TO 
REGAIN MY BREATH " 



up bodily, in spite of my struggles, he 
pushed me completely under the water. I 
do not know how long he kept me in the 
bath, at intervals holding my head under 
the water, then laughing boisterously as 



44 TOM FOQARTY 

I, gasping, tried to regain my breath. I 
only know that for years after I would 
occasionally, in my dreams, go through tlhe 
whole scene and suffer again and again 
all its agony. 

Unless I am much mistaken, the beadle's 
name was Muggeridge — -I am writing facts, 
all of which can be verified, and I give this 
name as it comes fresh to me after the 
lapse of many years. He could not have 
been very harsh to me, as I have no unkind 
memories of him. I remember there was 
an insufficiency of "Skilly," as we called 
the oatmeal mush and that, like our great 
prototype, Oliver Twist, we often felt like 
calling foir more, but lacked his courage. 
One of the strange facts connected with 
my living there is that, all through my 
life, a certain hymn tune learned there by 
me, never heard elsewhere, has remained 
fresh in my memory. (Morning and even- 
ing, the glorious hymns of Keble were 
sung to this tune, and it impressed itself so 
deeply on imy mind that the passing years, 
with all their storms, have never been able 
to efface it. 

Shortly after leaving the work-house, I 
remember cutting /myself very badly in 
climbing over the wall of the St. Anne's 
Lane Ragged School. This school had been 
opened by philanthropic, Christian people 
for the purpose of educating just such 
street anabs as I. The wall that parti- 
tioned the small school house from the 
alley, was covered with broken glass bot- 



TOM FOOARTY 45 

ties partly embedded in mortar. In climb- 
ing- over I slipped and, of course, was seri- 
ously cut. About this time my father was 
persuaded to allow me to go to work in a 
paper ba,g factory which was at that time 
a new charitable venture just opened at 
56 Old Pie street, under the title of the 
Westminster Industrial School. Its primal 
object was to educate and reform the 
youth of the immediate neighborhood. 
The funds were furnished by loving, Chris- 
tian men and women who occasionally 
visited us. To me, in my childhood, they 
seemed like visitors from some other 
planet. The very tones of their voices 
were so kindly and gentle: the words they 
uttered were so full of love, so different 
from those we were used to in every-day 
life, that it required no great stretch of 
the imagination to fancy they were of 
other material than we were. 

The superintendent, Shackleford, by 
name, was utterly unfit for the position. 
Did space permit, I would like to picture 
this man in his true colors. He was a Lon- 
don edition of Mr. Squeers. He, afterward, 
left the institution in disgrace. I had, in 
some manner, learned to read »at home, 
and here, at this Industrial School, I was 
taught to make paper bag , s, to help print 
them, and to set the type for that purpose. 
The boys wore a semi-uniform, consisting 
of a heavy blue overshirt with a numbered 
badge to be worn on the arm, and cap. We 
were paid eight cents per day for our labor 



46 TOM FOGARTY 

and, in addition, we received two meals; 
breakfast and dinner. The food was 
coarse but plentiful, and was a perfect 
God-send to most of the boys. We slept at 
home. I was working there during the 
Crimean War, and at its close, I was taken, 
with the rest of the boys, to St. James' 
Park to see the Queen distribute medals 
to the wounded and crippled heroes. 

One very peculiar thing about the boys 
that composed the school was this — with 
the exception of one boy, Mike Flanagan by 
name, I was the only scholar whose people 
lived "on the cross" as we termed it; that 
is, were professional law breakers. Their 
parents were mostly costers, tinkers and 
such like. People who (had at least an os- 
tensibly honest mode of earning a living. 
The "crooked" people, as a whole, would 
not permit their boys to work at the In- 
dustrial School, or else they had not the 
power to compel their attendance. 

During those early years my father ap- 
peared to be anxious that I might grow up 
at least, an honest boy. Very often he 
would talk to me — child though I was — of 
the folly and danger of a dishonest life, as 
exemplified in the careers of certain un- 
lucky burglars, pickpockets or sneak- 
thieves who were friendly neighbors of 
ours. But I noticed that these words of 
warning were to be expected from him 
only when he had reached a certain or un- 
certain stage o>f inebriety. 

My mother — what shall I say, what can 



TOM FOGARTY 47 

I say of her ? I only know tilxat she laved 
and feared my father. That her whole 
life was dominated by his. As I write, her 
face comes to me again. Tender, sorrow- 
ful and careworn, with t'hat awful- scar 
marring- the cheek. Her life, so far as I 
remember, held no comfort or joy. She 
would coax and plead with me tlia,t I 
should do, or not do, certain things, even 
threatening- to complain of one ;to father, 
but he was so quick to ang'er and so incon- 
siderate and brutal in his moments of 
passion, as she, poor soul, had experienced 
in her own person; that I knew there was 
no danger of her telling-, so I went my own 
way, and a very vile way it was. 

Out of all the young- lads and boys that 
I knew at this time, there were three t'hat 
I had set upon pedestals to be admired 
and, if possible, I intended to emulate 
their deeds. Two of these were the sons 
of a notorious Jew who lived in Great 
Peter street. He was known as "Sheeny" 
Abrahams. 

They were "Wires," or pickpockets, and 
thoroughly proficient in their own line. I 
envied them as I saw them dressed so neat- 
ly and stylishly in their short Eton jackets, 
wearing, at times, high hats of the stove- 
pipe order. They "worked" theaters, 
opera houses 'and "crushes," or gatherings, 
of every kind. Their father was an artist 
in the matter of creating an opportunity 
for the exercise of their skill. Choosing a 
good locality, by the judicious offer of a 



4 8 TOM FOGARTY 

few pennies as 'a prize, .he would set a 
couple of street urchins fighting. A cur- 
ious crowd would gather, and his indus- 
trious, well-trained sons would proceed to 
gather the harvest. 

The other lad was my great chum and 
hero, Kinch Jackson. He was some three 
years older than I, and, to my admiring 
eyes, seemed to be an "-admirable Crichton" 
in knowledge of everything pertaining to 
a "crooked" life. I naturally looked up to 
and copied him at this period. He initi- 
ated me into many of the 'mysteries and 
habits that were a bane and curse to my 
after life. He acted as go-between and 
and "fenced" or sold anything I had cour- 
age or opportunity to "graft." 

He was, for a short time, a member of 
the Industrial School, but the discipline 
and fist of Mr. Shackleford did not agree 
with his ideas of life so, to the avowed joy 
of the Fox, he absented himself. 

A day or two previous to the arrest of 
Biddle, while on an errand for the school, 
I had covered myself with glory, in my own 
estimation, by stealing a silk handkerchief 
from the pocket of a gentleman on the 
street. This, I turned over to Kinchey to 
dispose of on shares. He overwhelmed 
me, I remember, with praise because it 
was my first successful haul without as- 
sistance. 

Oh, the pity! oh, the shame! That chil- 
dren, little children, should grow up in 
civilized Christian lands with no higher 



TOM FOGARTY 49 

ambition than to become proficient in 
crime. 

Some short .time after this, I cannot say 
how soon, I beard that Biddle and his 
pals were found guilty and "lagged," that 
is, sentenced to prison for a term of 
years. I distinctly remember my father 
lecturing some of the "lurkers" on the 
folly of any one quitting a genteel "lay" 
such as theirs, the extreme penalty for 
which was six months; to go "grafting" 
with "bouse workers" and such low grade 
crocks only to get pinched <and laid away 
for years. He used the case of Soldier 
George as an illustration. 

Foxy Jackson came to our house the day 
after the arrest, and there was quite a 
scene. I was at school at the time, but 
learned the particulars on ray return 
home. Jack Harrison and his wife, Welsh 
Poll, were present, and he, Jackson, was 
charged with being a 'Lagger" in that be 
had given information against Biddle. Of 
course, the Fox denied everything, but 
Poll brougiht up some other evidence 
against him so that, in spite of all his 
special pleading, be was ordered out of the 
house by father, with the warning that 
the air of Westminster would be very un- 
healthy for him in the future. With all 
his cunning, he acted the fool just then. 
Instead of getting awiay as fast as possible, 
he stopped to exculpate himself, and, as 
he dared not say much to father, be paid 
bis attention to Mrs. Harrison, boldly 



50 TOM FOGARTY 

stating, in very coarse language, that like 
his son, Kinch, she was incapable of telling 
the truth. Harrison answered this by 
word and blow, and in the confusion that 
ensued, Mr. Jiaokson wais horribly cut 
about the face and neck. He claimed that 
Poll had struck him several itimes with a 
glass water pitcher, even using it as a 
weapon when scarce anything except the 
handle remained in her (murderous hand. 
Jack Harrison always said that he did the 
mischief, and he and his family moved 
away to the region of Drury Lane to avoid 
the consequences. But my impression is 
that the Fox bore his injuries in silence. 

About this time I noticed that Brocky 
Quinn seemed to wish to cultivate my ac- 
quaintance. Whenever an opportunity 
would offer, he would talk, to me — some- 
times even inviting me into his den behind 
the rag shop and treating me to a drink 
of "swipes," or stale beer. I attributed 
this at the time, I think, to the shrewd- 
ness I had shown on the night of George's 
arrest and one or two other occasions; but 
I sometimes think he had a plan of his own 
which T was only too eager to help 'accom- 
plish. I naturally said nothing at home of 
our intercourse. 

On a drizzly, cheerless evening, some few 
months later, as I passed along Pie street 
from the school, I saw Kinchey standing in 
a doorway at the corner of Duck Lane, 
talking to a well-dressed, gentlemanly- 
appearing man. I sauntered by, and when 



TOM FOG ARTY 51 

we next met I asked: "Say, Kinchey, who's 
the bloke you was talkin' to larst night?; 
'e looks like a reg'lar Toff." 

" 'E his a Toff of the fust water," was 
the reply; 'nd 'e's goin' to put one enter 
some grarft that'll be ther makin' ov me. 
Th'old man tole 'im I was no good, tole 'im 
I was leary 'nd 'fraid to do hanythink, but 
hi'll show 'im — say, Tommy, 'e wants 
another kid, ta little kid to 'elp turn some 
trick 'nd hi tole 'im 'bout you." 

I was only too glad to have a chance to 
show my ability, providing always that it 
might be accomplished without father's 
knowledge, and I said so to Kinchey at 
once. 

At this time we had moved from St. 
Anne's street to Perkins Rents, and the old 
house was torn down, with same others 
adjoining, and in its stead a large bath 
house was being erected. As T stood gaz- 
ing tat the men working on the new build- 
ing, one day, Kinchey, standing at the door 
of Quinn's establishment, whistled me over 
to his side. He told me Brocky wanted 
me, and added, "Say, Tommy, that bloke's 
a goin' to be 'ere tonight." 

Quinn sent young Jackson over to 
"The Keathers" for some beer, and while 
we were alone he questioned me very 
closely and cunningly about my father and 
his doings. Because of my fear, I visas al- 
ways very careful to say nothing about 
my home life, so I think he gained very 
little from me. When Kinch came back, 



52 TOM FOGARTT 

he 'had company. There were two men 
with hdm, one of whom I recognized ais 
"The Toff" I had seen formerly with Jack- 
son. While they were drinking the beer 
and talking* together, I noticed they both 
were scrutinizing me 'and asking questions 
of Brocky. Presently, calling me over to 
where they stood, <hie said: 

"This 'eres the boy wot I told yer about, 
'nd a very good boy 'e is, too. There aint 
none of 'em 'round 'ere has can put it (hover 
'im, his there, Tommy?" 

I attempted to answer, but he continued 
without heeding me: 

"Now, Tommy, 'ere's a charnce for yer. 
This 'ere gent likes yer looks, 'e does, and 
'es willin' to take yer with 'im 'nd put yer 
hup to a thing* or two as'll hopen yer 
heyes. Of course, hi told 'im yer wos orl 
right. That you'd Farther go over ther 
road afore you'd squeal, 'cos I knowed yer, 
Tommy. iNow, you jest lissen to 'im, but 
mind hi dont hadvise yer to go with 'im." 

Then he turned to the larger of the two 
men and told him to talk it over with me 
and tell me what he wanted done. I re>- 
m ember he praised me until I looked over 
at Kincn with my head filled with the idea 
that I wais about the shrewdest boy of my 
ag^e in all Westminster, and that all I had 
needed, to prove this to the satisfaction of 
everyone concerned, was this very oppor- 
tunity that was now offered me. 

The tall man questioned me, very close- 
ly, on a variety of topics, always coming 



TOM FOGARTT 53 

back to the question, wfoat was the right 
thing for a boy or man to do in case of an 
arrest? Brocky interrupted him once 
or twice to assure him 'that I wouldn't 
squeal or give away under any circum- 
stances, and at length he seemed satisfied. 
After some further talk among th ems elves, 
it was agreed that on the following Sat- 
urday afternoon I and Kinchey would 
meet Jack Bishop — the oither of the 
strangers — iat the "Corner Pin," a public 
house at the head of Peter street and 
Stratton Ground. 

I learned that the tall man's name was 
Bill Moore. He evidently knew my father 
and he cautioned me particularly to say 
nothing at home about our intended trip. 
He and his companion left us in Quinn's 
when they went away and, as <he passed 
out, he gave me a shilling and I heard the 
chink of money as his hand passed Kinch 
Jackson's. Kinch swore, (afterwards, that 
Moore gave him nothing, but I knew bet- 
ter. We 'had another drink of beer from 
Brocky, amd then, as we were leaving, he 
called me back to say: 

"This is a fust clarss cfoarnoe for yer, 
Tommy; but, remember, j r er carn't say as 
'ow I hadvised yer to go." 




CHAPTER VI. 

THE, START FROM THE "ONE TUN." 

S I, impatiently, waited for 
the coming Saturday, how 
very long each intervening 
day seemed to me. I saw 
Kinch Jackson as often as 
possible, and we talked over 
the prospective job, and even 
laid plans of the wond'erful 
things we would contrive to 
to get out of our share of 
the swag, or booty. 

I went daily to my work at the 
Industrial school but, while folding and 
making the paper bags, my mind was oc- 
cupied with schemes and thoughts totally 
foreign to the work in hand. Mike Flan- 
agan, one of the boys in the school, had 
boasted to me, often, of certain tricks he 
had helped to "turn," and I found it very 
difficult to keep from giving him at least 
a hint of the chance that had opened up 
before me. But I managed to keep mum, 
and at last, to my intense joy, the longed- 
for Saturday came. 

As soon as dinner was eaten, I contrived 
to slip away from the watchful eye of Mr. 
Shackleford, and in a short space of time, 
I joined company with Kinchey in the 
skittle ground of "The One Tun," a dis- 
reputable public house in Perkins Rents, 
Here, I remember, we remained for 



TOM FOQARTT 55 

some hous, alternately watching- the skit- 
tle players — occasionally stealing a drink 
of beer ont of their partly-emptied pew- 
ters — and then trying to picture the suc- 
cess we fully anticipated from the com- 
ing meeting with Moore and Bishop. I 
was very eager to have the time pass that 
I might get started. For some reason, I 
had no fear of arrest or capture by the 
police. My only dread was that father 
might, in some way, interfere, or that 
they — Moore and his pal — might conclude 
I was too young for their use. 

Somewhere about 3 or 4 o'clock in the 
afternoon, Kinchey, who had been for the 
last hour setting up the skittles for the 
players, came slowly across the end of the 
alley. With a look of intelligence at me, 
he slipped out through a side door, while I 
moved carelessly out through the bar 
room to the street. T followed on, a short 
distance behind him, until we reached 
Peter street, then I ranged up beside him 
and we headed for "The Corner Pin;" my 
heart beating fast and furious with ex- 
citement and joy at the idea of being 
permitted to take part in work with full- 
grown men, proficient in their line. 

I have no heart nor inclination to moral- 
ize over the feelings that I entertained at 
that time, yet, surely, some one other 
than little Tom Fogarty should bear the 
blame for the unnatural, unchristian de- 
sires and aspirations of that darkening 
Saturdav afternoon. 



56 TOM FOGARTY 

When we came to "The Corner Pin," we 
divided. I walked into the saloon, through 
one of the swinging doors on Stratton 
Ground, leaving Kinch on the outside and, 
after scrutinizing the faces of the crowd 
inside, I passed out at the further side 
facing the Horseferry Road. I was sadly 
disappointed, I remember, in not seeing 
Bishop but, as I turned to look for Kinch, 
I saw Bill Moore crossing the street and, 
at the same moment, Kinchey passed by 
me, giving me a quick sign to follow. I 
stood, for an instant, before joining 
Kinchey, while I took a rapid survey of 
everything and everybody within sight; 
then I strolled on after them, waiting for 
the signal that would call me up along- 
side of Mr. Moore. 

As we passed up Rochester Row, a hasty 
step behind me caused me to look around, 
just as Jack Bishop overtook me. 

"Come on, Tommie," said he, "Yer 
didn't see me back at "Ther Corner Pin," 
did yer? but I was gunning you off from 
the fust." 

"Were was yer plarnted?" I asked, net- 
tled to think that he could see me and I 
not see him. 

"Did yer see that there cab hover by 
ther dead wall? Well, I was hin that." 

"Oh, then yer didn't have a charnce to 
see Sergeant Buckley?" said I. 

He stopped at once, and eagerly asked: 

"Did you, Tommie? Were wos 'e? Wot 
was 'e a doin'?" 



TOM FOG ARTY 



57 




^Witw^'i 



*8 TOM FOOARTY 

Doin' nothin'," I replied. "Jest lookin* 
in a shop winder hover on the 'Orseferry 
Road." 

Bishop, while listening to my talk, had 
been looking anxiously back, and now, 
with a sharp "come on," he hurried on 
after Moore. I crossed the street and fol- 
lowed on, — keeping within hailing dis- 
tance. Bishop soon overhauled Moore, and 
they turned down a lane, or mews, back 
of some stables, where they held an earn 
est conversation, while I and Kinehey 
loitered and waited, fearful lest our trip 
should be abandoned. Moore finally came 
back, and after looking carefully about, 
he made me tell him all I had seen oi 
Police Sergeant Buckley. He appeared to 
be disturbed, and even "leary," or afraid, 
which caused him to fall, woefully, in my 
estimation. When Bishop joined us, we 
started on again toward Vauxhall Bridge; 
the men leading the way at a good swing- 
ing pace, Kinch and I following a short 
distance behind. 

Adjoining the bridge, was a very large 
ship yard, into which Moore turned, while 
Bishop kept on toward the bridge. As we 
boys came to the gate, Moore beckoned us 
in; then, leading the way down between 
some rows of wonderful figure-heads of 
ships and ships' timbers to the back of 
the yard, he halted and, stooping down, 
pulled a, bundle from beneath some 
boards. Dividing the contents into two 
packages, he gave one to me and one to 



TOM FOOARTY 59 

Kinch Jackson, telling us to stow them 
away, and to be sure and get rid of them 
if there was any danger of a pinch. 1 
knew something of burglars tools by hear- 
say and description, but I had never had 
the pleasure of handling or seeing an3 r ; 
3 T et 1 knew, at once, that I had a part of a 
kit entrusted to my care, and I felt elated 
and honored by the trust. 

Presently we came to a railway station. 
Bishop got tickets for us, and ushered us 
into a car, quietly cautioning us to keep 
ourselves to ourselves; have our eyes open 
and watch him. 

Up till the moment w T hen the train 
started, I had been buoyed up with ex- 
citement and expectation, only fearing 
lest I might, in some way, be left behind; 
but, suddenly, I began to lose heart, I 
know not why, and I heartily wished my- 
self safe once more in the home nest. 

I thought of father and of his anger 
when I failed to appear. I knew that 
mother would be the sufferer, as it was 
his invariable custom to vent his rage 
upon her long-suffering and meek head 
whenever anything transpired to anno}^ 
him. And then I had not bargained for 
the absence of Moore. He seemed to have 
deserted us, and T had, for some undefined 
reason, no faith in the ability or courage 
of Jack Bishop. 

By the time the train reached Putney, I 
felt so miserable that I came very near 
slipping out of the carriage with the in- 



6o • TOM FOGARTY 

tention of abandoning the party, and mak- 
ing my way, as best I might, back home. 
But Bishop sat near the door on the plat- 
form side — the cars were fitted with doors 
on the side — and I was a little afraid he 
would stop me if I attempted to get out, 
so I hesitated and lost the chance. 

It had grown dark, and I settled back on 
the seat tired of everything, especially of 
the whispered chatter of Kinch Jackson. 
I don't know whether I dozed or not, but 
suddenly I noticed the train was standing 
still, and Bill Moore stood at our carriage 
door telling us to hurry and get out. 

If I had been asleep, I was now thor- 
oughly wide awake, and, as we passed out 
of the railroad station, or depot, I began 
to exercise my old habit — a habit that was 
instinctive with me— of narrowly noticing 
my surroundings. 

This was my first trip, and seemed to 
me to be the consummation of all my 
hopes and desires. Every feature and in- 
cident of the night's work is indelibly 
impressed upon my memory, so that, per- 
haps, I may be pardoned for taking so 
much space in describing it. 

"'Ave yer got ther kit?" asked Bishop, 
as I walked beside him in the darkness of 
a country lane. 

"They're 'ere, hunder me arm, but 
w'ere's Kinch gone to, and wot time o' 
night is it?" I asked. In spite of my 
training, I was but a child, and felt lost 
out here in the wilderness, alone, as it 



TOM FOOARTY 61 

seemed, with Bishop, whom I disliked and 
distrusted. 

"Oh, we'll find 'em, d'reckly. You jes' 
keep close ter me and don't say nothink 
'less I arsk yer to, 'nd you'll be 'orl right." 

We soon left the lights of the station 
and contiguous houses far behind, and as 
we moved forward I could barely make 
out the form of Bishop by my side. 

Walking on thus, in silence, there grew 
upon me, for the first time in my life, a 
peculiar, impalpable sensation of fear; not 
of physical hurt or violence, but a dread 
of some unknown danger that seemed to 
pervade my whole being, even as the mist 
and fog we were moving through, pene- 
trated my clothing, chilling my flesh and 
causing my teeth to chatter with the 
cold. Compared with the unceasing, 
noisy roar of old London streets, this 
place was deathly quiet. Yet it seemed 
vocal with strange, unfamiliar sounds, 
that kept me continually on the alert, ex- 
pecting I knew not what. I had complete- 
ly lost my bearings, and felt I must speak 
— cry out, run away, or do something to 
break up and change the existing condi- 
tion of things, when Bishop, with a word 
of caution, halted, for a moment, and then 
pushed me through a gate he had opened 
into a field. He held me tightly by the 
arm, and we walked for a short distance 
across the field to another hedge, inside of 
which, even in the gloom, I could see the 
outlines of a large house. As we stood, 



62 TOM FOOARTY 

motionless, peering through the fog at the 
house, we were joined by Moore and young 
Jackson, who seemed to spring out of the 
ground, so quiet was their approach. 

We moved quietly along the hedge to a 
gate which Moore opened, and passing 
through, we found ourselves with the 
short, crisp grass of a lawn under our feet. 
Halting us, Moore went rapidly over to- 
ward a low building, then, returning, we 
all moved forward into the shadow of the 
house. 

"How d'yer feel, kid?" asked Moore of 
me in a whisper; bending his head down 
close to mine. 

"Oh, I'm 'orl right," said I, my fear all 
gone, and only a feeling of eagerness to 
get to work remaining. 

"Now, Tommie," he continued, "this 
'ere's your fust job, so I ain't a goin' to 
arsk too much off of yer. We jes' want 
yer to throw the bolts on this 'ere door, 
an' then there's a quid fer yer, no matter 
if we gits nothink, or no. Yer ain't leary, 
are yer?" 

Leary, indeed! I scorned the idea, and 
told him emphatically that I was afraid of 
nothing. He seemed convinced, for he 
went on: 

"Now, throw off yer kicks; take this 
glim, and don't turn it on honly w'en yer 
'ave to." 

I took the dark-lantern and stowed it 
away in my bosom, while he continued to 
instruct me how to find the lower and up- 



TOM FOGARTY 63 

per bolts, and to use plenty of strength on 
the key, as it turned hard; to be sure and 
not niake any noise, but haste and let 
them in. 

I assured him that I knew what to do 
and would do it. I slipped off my shoes 
and followed him up the steps to the 
door, shaking and trembling like a leaf, 
from intense eagerness and nervous ex- 
citement. 

We were at the rear of the house, which 
was evidently the abode of wealthy people. 
While Moore was talking to me, Bishop 
and Kinch moved off around the side of 
the house, Jack presently returning alone. 

Now, as we stood on the top step, Bishop 
joined us. The door was very massive, and 
there was a long, narrow window on each 
side of it, apparently for the purpose of 
lighting the hall. Jack pushed past us, 
without a word, and began working at the 
sash. 

I was anxious and eager to see what he 
was doing, and how he did it, but Moore 
held me close to his side, while he gave me 
a last word of warning. 

"Don't yer wait to look 'round for noth- 
ink, Tommie. You unscrew the door, 'nd 
we'll show yer wot's wot. Remember, yer 
gits a quid— 'ere 'tis — jest as soon as we 
gits hin, and you'll git yer bit b'sides, of 
'orl we pull orf ." 

It did not need the sight of the gold sov- 
ereign, he held out to me, to induce me to 
do the work laid out for met On the con,- 



64 TOM FOOARTY 

trary, I felt proud of the confidence they 
seemed to have in me, and was ready to 
show that it was not misplaced. 

As he finished speaking", Bishop stepped 
back from the sash, holding- in his hands 
the pane of glass taken bodily from the 
lower frame. 

"Hin yer go," said Moore; lifting me 
carefully up on the stone sill and pushing 
me feet first, through the narrow window. 

I was a thin, delicate boy, of very slight 
build, but the frame was so extremely 
narrow, that I stuck and struggled for 
what seemed an age to me, and finally 
Moore pulled me out again, ordering me 
to pull off my jacket and vest. This I did, 
and by pushing and wiggling I managed 
to squeeze through and drop lightly into 
the hall. I did not feel it at the time, I 
suppose, but I was sore for some days 
after, because of the scraping and scratch- 
ing I received. 

Once in, T lost no time in opening the 
door. In order to reach the upper bolt, I 
was compelled to stand on a chair, and the 
only one visible, by the light of my lan- 
tern, was a huge one that was almost too 
heavy for me to move. I did move it, and 
that without noise, and managed to turn 
the big key lightly. 

As the door swung open, Moore led the 
way in, followed by Bishop. Closing the 
door, Moore turned the light of the lan- 
tern for an instant up through the hall. 
Both were wearing heavy woolen stock- 



TOM FOGARTY 65 

ings over their shoes, and they seemed un- 
concerned and self-possessed, as if they 
owned the building. 

" 'Ere's yer quid," said Moore, quietly, 
handing me the piece of gold; "now, you 
wait houtside on ther steps. Don't yer git 
leary; you've done werry well. If there's 
a tumble "'ere in th' 'ouse, don't you miz- 
zle; jest wait on ther grass hout back, 'nd 
we'll come for yer. Kinch is piping hout 
in ther front." 

Saying this, he pushed me out through 
the door again, and quietly closed it. 

As soon as the door closed, I moved over 
to a side stone of the steps and seated my- 
self. I felt hurt that Moore had no use 
for me beyond opening the door, and as 1 
sat there, with my ears strained to their 
utmost tension, T imagined all manner of 
heroic things that I would have done had 
they permitted me to stay inside. Then, 
in the stillness and hnsh of the night, my 
thoughts began to revert to home and the 
consequences of this runaway trip. I 
knew that \ would get well thrashed for 
my conduct, and T determined that instead 
of returning at once when this job was 
completed, T would run away to the East 
End — Whitechapel Way — and let the storm 
blow over. Again, T thought of the good 
times I would have spending my easily- 
earned wealth, and T wished that Kinchey 
was by my side that we might exchange 
confidences on that and kindred sub- 
jects, 






66 TOM FOGARTY 

I must have relaxed my vigilance and be- 
gan to dream, for, suddenly, a hand was 
laid heavily on my shoulder, and I believe 
I would have yelled aloud in my fright, 
only for the re-assuring sound of Bill 
Moore's voice. 

"'Ere, take 'old of this, Tommie; stand 
up stiff. Now yer hother harm." 

As he spoke he laid on my shoulders, on 
my arms and around my neck a miscellan- 
eous assortment of silks and furs, evident- 
ly booty from some well stocked ward- 
robe. 

Bishop pushed past us down the steps 
bearing a load in his arms. I lost sight of 
him in the gloom, but he returned empty- 
handed just as Moore said: 

"Now, you and Kinche3 r wait 'ere till we 
bring the stuff hout, 'nd then we're off." 

They had hardly entered the house, be- 
fore they were out again, bearing between 
them a large basket which they placed on 
the steps while they carefully closed the 
door. 

Then, with a word of warning for me 
to keep close and quiet, and not lose any 
of the "rags," they lifted the basket and 
moved away at a rapid pace. 

Kinch was at my side immediately. He 
was loaded down, but was in high spirits. 

"Wot'ger think of this, Tommie?" he 
asked. But a warning growl from Jack 
Bishop, as we passed through the front 
gate, caused me to make no answer. 

They had arranged matters very care- 



TOM FOGARTY 6j 

fully, for, in less than a half hour's walk 
we came to a stable in a narrow lane, and 
Moore, opening the door, spoke quietly to 
some one inside, when, at once, a light 
wagon was driven from the rear, into 
which we all tumbled, Moore taking the 
driver's seat, the rest of us lying down on 
some straw on the bottom. The man who 
had brought out the wagon helped Moore 
arrange the swag, basket and all, in the 
bottom beside us, then covered us all over 
with canvas, or tarpaulin, and in a few 
moments we were off again on our road to 
Westminster. 




CHAPTER VII. 

MY EDUCATION IS CONTINUED. 

OEE than a week 
passed, I should 
judge, before I re- 
turned to my own 
abode. I do not re- 
member how much 1 
received for my 
share of that night's 
work, but I know 
Kinchey introduced me to a lodging- 
house keeper in Church Lane, St. Giles', 
and we spent our money there in riotous 
living for a few days. He was a scoundrel 
of the first water, living on the follies and 
crimes of a host of little children, who 
went out daily, at his bidding, to beg or 
steal, and he managed to make it very un- 
comfortable for any who returned empty- 
handed. His name was Reilly. He had 
but one eye, and his appearance was ex- 
tremely repulsive. 

He treated Kinchey and me as if we 
owned the house, as long as our money 
lasted; but when the end came, as it 
speedily >did, his manner toward us 
changed at once, and he gave us to under- 
stand that we could not live on what we 
had spent, and hunted us out to make 
more. 

In a few days I managed to get picked 
up on the street by a neighbor, who led 



TOM FOQARTY 69 

me home in triumph. I was scolded and 
threatened by my father, but escaped pun- 
ishment, while my mother seemed so 
overjoyed at my return, that she did not 
even scold me. I said nothing about 
Moore, or our trip, but made up a story, 
that was a tissue of lies, to account for my 
absence. For some reason I did not re- 
turn to the Industrial School. I think 
they would not receive me again, but 
whatever the reason, I was glad to get 
away from Shackelford's authority and 
heavy, brutal fist. 

Some time after this, because of some 
trouble with the authorities, we moved to 
Charles street, Drury Lane; a neighbor- 
hood every whit as vile as Westminster. I 
formed new acquaintances and learned 
some new deviltry each move that we 
made. "The Mogul," a concert hall, was 
in full blast at that time in Drury Lane, 
as, perhaps, it is today, and I used to bend 
all my energies to making enough money 
to get in there with some "coster" or 
"crooked" friend as often as possible. 

While living here I was permitted, for 
the first time, to take part in a piece of 
work that was engineered by father. I 
was very much elated over my share of the 
job, and plumed myself on the perfect 
manner in which I carried out my part. 
The trick was an old and familiar one, in 
all its details, to me, but I had never be- 
fore been allowed to participate in the 
play. It was as follows: 



70 TOM FOGARTY 

The newspapers of the metropolis are 
published at an hour in the morning when 
a vast majority of the citizens are still 
asleep in their beds. 

One morning' an obituary notice ap- 
peared in the proper column, say, in "The 
Standard," which read: 

ClyEGHORNE— At his residence, 697 Berkely Square, 
John VanMeter Cleghorne, member of the firm 
of Hollis, Cleghorne & Hollis, Lombard Street. The 
decedent was in his forty-seventh year, and leaves a 
widow and two children, with a host of sorrowing 
friends to mourn his loss. Notice of funeral will be 
published later. 

At a very early hour, that same morn- 
ing, a boy, decently clad, about 11 years of 
age, presented himself at the door of the 
house of mourning in Berkeley Square, 
and tiniidly asked for Mr. Cleghorne. 

"Wot d'yer want of him, 'nd w'ich Mr. 
Cleghorne his it?" asks the pompous ser- 
vant. 

"I've got a letter 'ere from a lady w'ich 
I should 'ave brought yesterday ar'ter- 
noon to Mr. John Cleghorne." 

"Give it 'ere." 

"I was told as 'ow I musn't give it to no- 
body but Mr. Cleghorne hisself," says the 
boy, " 'nd if 'e ain't hin, I'll wait," 

"Come in 'ere," says the servant. "Now, 
sit down there, and be keerful not to make 
no noise." 

He goes off, and the boy waits patiently, 
his eyes taking in and valuing every port- 
able article in sight, from the walking 
sticks and umbrellas in the hall-stand, to 



TOM FOG ARTY 71 

the huge oil paintings, already draped in 
black, on the wall. 

To him, presently, ushered by the super- 
cilious flunkey, comes a quiet-looking 
young man with a very mild, sorrowful 
face, who asks: 

"Have you a message or letter for me?" 

"Why, no! You ain't the gen-elman as I 
give the letter to a long" time ago, larst 
year, in the city, 'nd she told me as 'ow I 
mus'n't give it to nobody but 'im. 'E was 
a good deal holder, 'e wos." 

"Mr. Cleghorne is — let me see the letter, 
I will see that it reaches the right hands. 
You shall not get into trouble, my boy." 
So speaks the pleasant-voiced gentleman, 
and after considerable coaxing and prom- 
ises of making good any loss that may 
accrue through his not following orders, 
the boy finally gives up the sealed envel- 
ope directed in a firm feminine hand to 

JOHN CLEGHORNE, ESQ. 

The young man takes the letter, looks 
for a moment at the address, then orders 
the servant to give the boy some refresh- 
ment and walks into an adjoining room, 
closing the door. 

Let us take the liberty of looking on, in 
imagination, while he hesitatingly opens 
and reads the missive. This is it, ver- 
batim: 

Dear John: Perhaps I ought not to use that ex- 
pression in writing you, as you evidently no longer 
feel that way toward me. I have written 3-011, this is 
the third time, and I have waited, on two occasions, 



72 TOM FOGABTY 



near your office hoping that I might see and speak to 
you, but I have failed Now tell me, John, what have 
I done. If you are tired of me, as I have felt for 
some time that you were, then be man enough to come 
and see me and make some arrangements for the fu- 
ture of our girl. You need not think that I will try 
to hold you. I will go back down into Wales and try 
to live out the rest of my days near the old home. 
John, I am sick; not able to be out and yon know that 
I am in need. How could you treat me so? It is not 
like you. My last money went to pay Ella's tuition. 
My rent is overdue, and I am in dire straits. Please 
come to me. I must see you. I will do whatever you 
think best, John, only I must see you. Even if I am 
compelled to drag myself to your own home to do it, 
I must have an interview with you. 

I sincerely trust the boy will find you and that you 
will soon come to Clara C. B. 

P. S. Don't be angry with me, John, for sending 
this to your home address. If I could have raised a 
few pounds I think I would have gone off and never 
troubled you any more. Clara. 

Truly, a fine letter for a son, fresh from 
college life, grieving* over a father's death, 
to receive. How many times does he 
pause at the end of a sentence and strive 
to grasp the full meaning of what he has 
read. He turns bewildered to the signa- 
ture then reads on hurriedly. At last the 
horrible meaning of it all bursts upon him. 
Father, the father he has always looked up 
to and revered, — whose lifeless body now 
lies in the awful majesty of death in 
another chamber — that he should have 
been guilty of such deceit, such wicked- 
ness! Oh, the misery of it all! Mother 
must never know. If he only had his col- 
lege chum to consult with — no, that would 
not do — he must carry the load alone. 



TOM FOGABTY 73 

He goes out into the hall and paces up 
and down, then abruptly enters the room 
where the boy sits feasting, carefully 
watched by the suspicious servant. 

He stands impatiently while morsel af- 
ter morsel is swallowed by the hungry 
lad. 

"Will he never get through eating," he 
wonders, as an attack is made on a fresh 
dish. 

Finally, as he can bear the sight no 
longer, he goes off, with an order to the 
flunkey, "Show him into the library, Wat- 
son, when he is satisfied. I will await him 
there." 

Even such a meal as that was, must have 
an end, and in a little while I, Tom Fogar- 
ty, (the messenger boy for this occasion), 
am ushered into the library and find my- 
self alone with the son of the house. He 
questions me; not doubtingly, for he evi- 
dently believes in the letter, but in order 
to gain an idea of the best method of pre- 
venting scandal. 

"Did you tell Watson where you lived?" 
he asks, anxiously; and seems relieved 
when I answer him I have said nothing to 
Watson except a word or two in praise of 
the food supply of the house. 

He gave me a handful of shillings for 
myself, as he expressly stated, then wrote 
a short letter which he enclosed with some 
bank notes and gave to me to be deliv- 
ered to the lady who had sent me. As I 
bowed my way out, he called me back and, 



74 TOM FOGABTT 

taking from my hand the letter, he tore it 
open, to ray dismay, for I thought the 
game was up, and I was just meditating 
a rush to save my shillings, when he added 
a hurried line to the letter, then enclosing 
it in another envelope, he requested me to 
make haste and deliver it as directed. 

I was very careful that no one should 
follow or watch me as I threaded my way 
back to the public house in Pimlico, where 
father sat with two companions, waiting 
for me. 

I detailed every incident, and was highly 
commended for my cunning and success. 

The few pounds, I do not remember the 
amount, contained in the letter, were fol- 
lowed, shortly after, by several larger in- 
stallments; and quite a snug sum was 
drawn from the pockets of young Mr. Cleg- 
horne before the fictitious Clara C. B. was 
induced to take her final departure for 
her old home in Wales. 

Truly I was growing. 




urinated by 
some other 
huge city. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

I LOSE MY BEST FRIEND. 

KE of the discomforts inci- 
dent to the mode of life 
followed by ray parents 
was the fact that we had 
no settled, permanent 
place of abode. If, for a 
season, things moved pleas- 
antly and peacefully along, 
. our serenity would be ter- 
an abrupt removal to 
and distant part of the 
Of course, I knew the 
reason for these sudden changes, and, 
I am sorry to say, I found some enjo3 r ment 
in the excitement and novelty of each 
flitting. I had no feeling of attachment 
for any of the various dwellings that we, 
from.time to time, inhabited. In fact, one 
of the sorrows of my life has been that I, 
in my checkered career, never knew, until 
very late in life, the true meaning of the 
word home. 

I wish that I might avoid the telling of 
certain portions of my past life. The re- 
cital of them causes pain, but I believe 
that a knowledge of them is necessary to 
a true understanding of the peculiar en- 
vironment of some lives here in our midst 
today, and my earnest hope and trust is 
that ultimate good may result from the 
telling. 



76 TOM FOGARTY 

During the winter of 1857-58 we were 
living in Kent street, in that part of 
London known as "The Borough. " 
Early in- the year my dear mother, who 
was nursing an infant daughter, was ar- 
rested, and on a sleety morning, I think 
in February, the very day the Princess 
liOyal was married, I went to a police 
court and heard her sentenced to prison. 

As you sit at home, surrounded by 
friends and loved ones, can you picture the 
condition and feelings of little Tom Fogar- 
ty under such circumstances? Good peo- 
ple, the days of which I write, lie nearly 
forty years behind us; but, if in your 
hearts there is a feeling of sympathy and 
pity for the little lad or any of his tribe, 
dear heart, there are, unfortunately, op- 
portunities more than plenty for its exer- 
cise today. Tom Fogartys are to be 
found — God pity them — in every large city 
of the civilized world. 

The child, hapless innocent, being too 
young to be separated from the mother, 
was carried by her into Tothill Field's 
prison. Then, for three months my father 
walked us regularly, every Sunday, along 
a certain portion of Victoria street at 3 
o'clock in the afternoon, in order that 
mother, looking from the barred windows 
of a closet at that hour, might have the 
melancholy pleasure of seeing us and of 
waving through the bars, very cautiously, 
a scrap of white linen or cotton, as a sig- 
nal of love to us, 



TOM FOGARTY 77 

She had never been very strong, physic- 
ally, and her manner of life had materially 
impaired her health, so that, when she 
came back to us it was very evident that 
her days on earth were nearly done. I did 
not know this; I did not realize the fact. 
I was too young and heedless about such 
matters. The child, a little girl, lived but 
a short time after her release from the 
prison. The All-Wise Father mercifully 
rescued the little one from a life of sorrow 
and, probably, of sin and shame, and 
called her home, as in His tenderness and 
compassion He had previously done suc- 
cessively with three infant sisters. 

On several occasions my mother, I re- 
member, spoke to me earnestly concern- 
ing the probability of her early demise, 
and made an effort to have me realize and 
understand that she could not live very 
long. But I, in my waywardness, would 
never listen. I did not know; I would not 
understand, and I have paid for it with a 
life-long regret. She was very tender to me. 

She passed away from earth on the four- 
teenth day of March, 1859, and her soul, 
with all its faults, went before a Judge 
who knew and understood her inmost 
thoughts and ways, and whose highest at- 
tributes are mercy, grace and love. 

We were living at that time at 33 Gard- 
ener's Lane, Westminster, in rooms rented 
from no less a person than the widow of 
"Shaw, the Life-Guardsman," the hero of 
Waterloo. 



7 8 



TOM FOGARTY 




TOM FOGARTY 79 

A gentleman, whose cultivated manner, 
dress and well-modulated voice, indicated 
that he belonged to a far higher station 
than ours, came to the funeral. I learned 
that he was a wealthy cousin of my 
mother, whose home was at Ware, in Hert- 
fordshire, with large business interests in 
the city. He paid very little attention to 
me. Doubtless he felt relieved to think 
that what had been an awful blot on the 
escutcheon of an old and honorable house, 
would be lightened, to a certain degree, by 
the passing away of the one who had 
caused it. He went with us to the cem- 
etery, and when I gave way to a passionate 
outbreak of grief at the dull sound of the 
earth falling on the plain coffin, he turned 
and looked so strangely at me for a mo- 
ment that I stifled my sobs and slipped out 
of sight behind my father, who stood near. 
He parted company with us at the gate, 
and I have never seen or heard of him or 
his from that moment. 

It is more than likely that, had I been in 
his place, I also would have breathed a 
sigh for the departed ; then, looking on the 
remainder of the family as incorrigible, I 
would have, probably, drawn my robes 
around me and have passed by on the 
other side. And yet — and yet, it might 
have been so different. 

One morning, some months later, 
my father awakened me, and I found 
that during the night I had gained 
a bed-mate. I recognized my companion 



80 TOM FOGABTY 

at once as Bill Moore, the gentleman who 
had initiated nie into the mysteries of 
'house-work," although I had not seen him 
for some time. An awful change had taken 
place in the man. I sat up in bed and 
gazed at him, and wondered what could 
have caused such a transformation. Moore, 
when I last saw him, was rather neat, 
almost dandified, in his dress and personal 
appearance; always well groomed. Now, 
bis hair was unkempt; his linen soiled, and 
his whole personality appeared neglected 
and dirty. 

"Hello, Tom! Don't you know me?" 
asked Moore, holding out his hand, while 
a peculiar expression, which I coftld not 
understand and which almost frightened 
me, flitted across his face. 

"Git out of that, and go up to York 
street and get us some rum," said father, 
before I could answer. 

I hurriedly dressed myself, and taking a 
bottle and some change father gave me, I 
was leaving the room when, at a muttered 
word or two from Moore, father said: 

"Look here, Tom; this is Mr. Kennedy; 
he's a relation of ours, here on a visit from 
Manchester." Then, with a dreadful oath, 
he added: "See that "you keep your tongue 
within your teeth. D'ye understand?" 

I assured him that I did, and hurried off 
to get the drink, hoping that a few glasses 
would somewhat mollify the evident ill- 
temper that possessed him. 

During the whole of that day they kept 



TOM FOG ARTY ' 81 

close quarters m the room. At intervals I 
went out and brought in a supply of rum. 
They played cards together — permitting 
me, at times, to take a hand; they smoked 
and chatted and drank, but not sufficient 
to become intoxicated. Just at dusk there 
was a noise on the stairs that brought 
both men to their feet, sober and expect- 
ant in a moment; but, at the sound of the 
voice of someone talking loudly to the 
landlady, Moore quietly seated himself, 
while father opened the door and, with a 
word of welcome, ushered in a stranger. 

" 'Ow are yer, Bill ? Say, is that your 
kid, Fred?" so speaks the new-comer, 
pointing at me. He seats himself, taking 
the proffered glass and sipping at it in 
evident enjoyment, while I furtively take 
note of his make-up. 

He is heavily and awkwardly built. 
Coarse of feature, with a powerful, cruel 
jaw. His clothing, I note, indicates a 
working man, yet he seems to be well ac- 
quainted, even familiar, with both father 
and Moore. 

I gather from their conversation, that 
Moore is being sought for by the police. 
This is such a matter of course in our 
lives, that it makes very little impression 
on my mind. 

Father and the stranger sit at the table 
drinking and chatting together, while 
Moore sits apart in silence, leaning mood- 
ily against the chimney-piece. Suddenly, 
he asks: "Wos the old woman at the 



82 TOM FOGARTY 

'ouse at all, yesterday, Corkey? Did she 
show hup, at all?" 

"Oh, yes," says Mr. Corkey, taking his 
pipe from his mouth, and sending out a 
dense cloud of smoke. "She wos there, orl 
right anuff ; ov course she wos there. You 
might a knowed she'd be there." 

"'Ow does she seem to take it? Wot 
does she say?" anxiously asks Bill. "His 
she werry bitter agin' me?" 

"Oh, I wouldn't bother about her," says 
father. "Here, take another drink, and 
we'll have a game o' cribbage to pass away 
the time." 

With a trembling, nervous hand Moore 
takes the tumbler and drinks deeply, then 
takes his place at the table, and a game of 
cribbage is started. The game was con- 
tinned all through the night. Father 
awakened me somewhere near midnight 
and sent me after some rum. I stretched 
myself out on the bed on my return, and 
slept in my clothes. Once or twice I 
awoke during the night, and looked at 
them through the haze of tobacco smoke, 
but there was very little to interest me, 
so I soon fell asleep again. 

Very early in the morning I was routed 
out again and sent for more liquor before 
the sleep was well out of my eyes. Our 
new friend, Corkey, was more than half 
drunk, and inclined to be noisy and quar- 
relsome. I brought two bottles of rum, 
and was told to get ready to go out and 
get some food for breakfast. While I 



TOM FOQARTT 83 

washed myself I noticed how very abusive 
Corkey had become, and wondered, in my 
own mind, how much more father w^ould 
stand before he threw him down stairs. 

Father, however, was, for some reason, 
very patient, and humored him, agreeing 
with him, and almost begging him to lie 
down and take a nap; at the same time he 
hastily ordered me out after the food. 

I so well remember that morning. I 
went down to Broadway, bought some 
groceries and meat, and had started back 
up York street, when I saw a large placard 
or poster, with a display head, and no- 
ticed several people reading it and com- 
menting on it. I walked over to it, hold- 
ing my bundles under my arm, and in an 
instant every nerve in my bodj r was ting- 
ling, while my heart beat so rapidly and 
loudly, that it did seem as if everyone near 
must hear its strokes. 

No need have I to go over it again. The 
one look has been sufficient, and, as I 
lower my eyes to the ground, the awful 
word, MURDER, is plainly printed on the 
dirty pavement. I turn my eyes carefully 
on my neighbors to see if they are noticing 
my agitation, and in huge, capital letters 
I read the same word on the hazy air be- 
tween us. 

This will not do; some one will notice 
the effect the bill has had on me, and there 
will be trouble. Besides, I have dropped a 
parcel. I stoop down and gather up the 
fallen goods, and seat myself in a near 



84 TOM FOQARTY 

doorway. Then I slowly fasten up my 
bundle again, and gradually master my 
emotion. 

There are several people standing gaz- 
ing at the bill, and one man in his shirt 
sleeves, with his leather apron thrown 
over his shoulder, is reading aloud the 
notice. In a moment I place myself by his 
side and carefully, yet rapidly, read over 
every word. 

"MURDER!" it says in great naming let- 
ters. 

Underneath, in letters nearly as large, 
there is an offer of ONE HUNDRED 
POUNDS REWARD for the body of one, 
William Abram Moore, who is charged 
with the killing of his wife. Then follows 
a minute description of the murderer and 
the names of various parties to whom any 
information concerning the case may be 
given. When I have read it all over, I 
turn slowly and move off up York street, 
taking great pains to avoid attracting at- 
tention and carefully watching to see if, 
for any reason, I am being followed. 

I want to get home. I want to warn 
father and Bill Moore that the neighbor- 
hood is getting decidedly warm for a cer- 
tain old-time friend of ours. A shudder 
passes over me as I remember that two 
nights ago this man had slept by my side. 
MURDER! That's a horrible word. Yes, 
but how are we going to get him away, 
and where can he go? Why, nearly all the 
fly-collars know Bill, and — hello, here's 



TOM FOQARTY 



85 




86 TOM FOGARTY 

Gardener's Lane. Well, I'll go on a littie 
further and double back. Just so, my 
thoughts run, while my eyes are actively 
in use taking in all my surroundings. 

I go on past the lane, then suddenly turn 
back and slip down to the house, feeling 
sure that no one has followed me. 

"Where have you been so — Why, what's 
up, Tom?" Father is up out of his seat 
and by my side, in one stride. Moore 
rises to his feet, also, but falls back weak- 
ly, again. His face looks hollow and 
ghastly in the dull light of the day. 

As rapidly and concisely as I possibly 
can, I relate all that I have seen during my 
morning walk. I am pleased to notice the 
look of assurance come back to father's 
face as he hears my story and learns how 
careful I have been to avoid suspicion. 

"Oh," says he, "that's all right; that no- 
tice doesn't concern anyone here. Did you 
get some ham, Tom? That's good. We'll 
have some coffee with a drop of rum in it, 
Bill, and then we'll take a nap for an hour 
or two." 

Corkey is lying stretched out across the 
foot of the bed. His heavy, stertorous 
breathing has formed a disagreeable ac- 
companiment to all that has been said 
since my return. The coffee is soon made, 
and breakfast eaten; Moore contenting" 
himself with several cups of coffee mixed 
with rum. When the meal is ended, a 
quilt is thrown down on the floor, and, 
after a little persuasion, Moore is induced 



TOM FOOARTT 87 

to lie down, father taking a place by his 
side, after giving me stringent orders to 
keep quiet and under no circumstances to 
dare to leave the room. 

Moore is very restless and uneasy — con- 
tinually turning from side to side, asking 
questions without waiting for an answer — 
"I didn't mean it, Fred," he almost 
moans, as he utters the words; "I never 
thought as 'ow — d'yer s'pose I kin git away 
ter-morrer?" Thus he goes on; dozing a 
little from time to time, then waking with 
a startled movement that brings father up 
on his feet, wide awake and vigilant, on 
the instant. With a word of re-assurance 
they lie down again. On the bed, Corkey 
snores away in a drunken stupor; I sit and 
plan, and imagine, and watch, while the 
dreary hours of that seemingly endless 
day drag their slow length along. 

In the dusk of the evening, the three 
men left the house together. Moore 
started to threaten me with certain aw- 
ful disasters that would occur, if I 
peached, but father, with a few stern 
words closed his mouth. "You know your 
business, Tom," was all he said to me as he 
passed down the stairs. 

I never saw Bill Moore again. A few 
days later he was caught, disguised, in 
company with a knife grinder, somewhere 
in the suburbs of London. In due time he 
was tried, convicted and sentenced to im- 
prisonment for life. 



CHAPTER IX. 




MR. REILLY'S IN CHURCH LANE. 

HOETLY after the death of 
my mother, I found myself, 
once more, employed at 
the Westminster Industrial 
School, learning to set 
type and making paper 
bags. 

Through the kindness of 
a gentleman who was a 
constant visitor to the 
school, and who, for rea- 
sons that were then a 
complete mystery to 
me, but which, through 
God's grace, I can understand and 
appreciate now, always evinced a deep in- 
terest in the welfare of us boys. I, in 
company with another lad, Steve Brown, 
by name, was given an outing and an 
introduction to the purity and quiet of 
country home life. 

We were taken to the home of a widow, 
who lived in a small cottage on the estate 
of Baron Pollock, at Hatton, near Houn- 
slow. There, for one whole month, we 
reveled in the luxury of being able to 
roam at will in the fields and lanes; to 
climb trees, gather apples and even help 
glean after the reapers. And all this with- 
out having to dodge from policemen or 
worry about the reception we would meet 



TOM FOGARTY 



89 



art our home-coming each night. What a 
contrast that clean, sweet-smelling bed- 
room was to the Gardener's Lane abode I 
had left behind. And yet, before the 




THERE I BECAME ACQUAINTED WITH THE IMMORTAL 
'ROBINSON CRUSOE'." 



month had expired, such an intense long- 
ing for the old scenes possessed me, that I 
came near slipping back to the city with- 
out leave. 

Up in that little bed room, in the hush 
of the long twilight of the autumn even- 
ings, I made the acquaintance of the im- 
mortal Robinson Crusoe. 



go TOM FOGARTY 

After our return to the city, a situation 
was found for me with the great, well- 
known firm of Spottiswoode & Co., the 
Queen's printers. I worked for them for 
a few months, establishing f or myself dur- 
ing the time, a bad reputation all over the 
immediate vicinity. 

This was the spring of 1860. The volun- 
teer movemnet was in its incipient stages. 
A cadet corps was enrolled at Spottis- 
woode's, and I, among others, became a 
member. But, just as I had received my 
new uniform, my ill-conduct culminated in 
my discharge as an incorrigible by Mr. 
Wright, the then superintendent. 

Some years previous to this, I had 
formed the acquaintance of a genial old 
scoundrel who kept a lodging house in 
Church Lane, St. Giles'. My chum, Kinch 
Jackson, had formally introduced me to 
Mr. Reilly, and had been my sponsor on 
that occasion. Now, I had lost sight of 
Kinchey for a long time, and in the hope of 
hearing of him and. also, to avoid some 
trouble at home, I visited the den of this 
old thief-maker once more. 

Mr. Reilly welcomed me as an old ac- 
quaintance, and I fell at once into my 
proper place as one of his serviceable 
imps. Kinch Jackson, T soon learned, 
had met the usual fate of his tribe. He 
had been arrested many times and had 
escaped with short terms in the "Downs" 
or the "Steel" — slang terms which we ap- 
plied to Tothill Field's prison and Clerken- 



TOM FOGARTY 91 

well — but in the end had been sent up for 
three years. The single eye of old Reilly 
would glow with admiration whenever he 
spoke of Kinchey's cleverness and courage, 
and he never tired of extolling his firmness 
and audacity as shown in his last trial. 

"Ah," he would wheeze out, "if you kids 
was on'y like 'im. There was a boy as no- 
body or nothink could never do nothink 
with. Yer never seen 'im go hout an' stay 
hout for 'ours an' them come in without 
nothink. There, git out — go and waste 
yer time — yer may be hable to bring in a 
little sumfin, but yer carn't, none ov yer, 
be like 'im." 

I was very soon a prime favorite with 
Mr. Reilly. I remember how elated I felt 
when he held me up as an example to be 
copied by the other lads. Yet, boy though 
I was, T maifaged to form a pretty accur- 
ate estimate of him and his fulsome praise. 

On several occasions I was found very 
serviceable by some of the men who at 
different times made visits to our abode. 
They always paid me well, and I was able 
to frequent the galleries of certain thea- 
ters that were favorites of mine, and take 
some companion with me. 

So far in life I had been very fortunate 
in escaping a long term. This I attributed 
to my superior skill, and would boast 
among my associates, and out of sheer 
bravado, do things that seem almost in- 
credible to myself as I look back upon 
them. But there is an end to all things 



92 TOM FOGARTY 

except a circle, it is said, and my manner 
of life could only end in one way, "whatso- 
ever a man soweth that shall he also 
reap." 

On the fourteenth day of October, 1860, 
under the alias of James Smith, I was sen- 
tenced to three years' confinement at the 
Feltham Reformatory. 

The police officer who escorted me down 
to Feltham must have been a good man, 
for the advice he gave me made such a 
marked impression on my mind that I still 
remember some of his words. After a 
bath, I was given a suit that was warm and 
comfortable. On the left arm, and also 
on the band of the cap, in very ornamental 
figures, there was displayed the number, 
274. I was at once made to understand 
that my identity was completely swal- 
lowed np in that number — and that I must 
remember to answer at all times when the 
number was called. So, for the next three 
years, the name of Tom Fogarty passed 
out of my life, and James Smith, No. 274, 
took its place. 




CHAPTER X. 

A MODEL PRISONER AT FELTHAM. 

FELTHAM EEFORM- 
atory. What shall 
I say of it? Within its 
walls I spent many a 
na PPy> contented hour. 
In its school rooms and 
work shops 1 was 
taught sufficient of 
book learning* and 
trade- era ft to have en- 
abled me to go through life and hold my 
own in the race against many who started 
under better and fairer auspices, if only I 
had been able to master my innate inclina- 
tion to do evil. 

The school was in its infancy. Thou- 
sands of boys have grown up into young 
manhood there, and have passed oul into 
the world for good or ill since that time. 
I have met with its graduates in prisons or 
cities of Canada and the United States. 
But at that time the term of the first boy 
received had not expired. 

The office of chaplain and governor was 
combined in the person of a Rev. Dr. 
Croker, but he passed away shortly after 
my arrival, and in his stead, as chaplain, 
there came a goodly cricket-loving little 
cleric by the name of Pilkington, who 
prided himself, I remember, on the fact 
that he was descended from the great 



94 TOM FOGARTY 

Claverhouse — Bonnie Dundee. The posi- 
tion of governor was filled, for a short 
time, by a noble-looking, kind-hearted 
gentleman named Kehoe, who tenderly 
cared for me during a severe attack of 
sickness from which I suffered during my 
first winter at Feltham. After him came 
a soldier, Capt. J. R. Brookes, and he was 
still reigning when my day of freedom 
arrived. 

I will not attempt to depict my daily life 
while serving my sentence. The details 
would prove interesting, I believe, but the 
years that have elapsed since then have 
been so fruitful of incident and adventure, 
that I cannot afford the necessary space. 

I was assigned to work in the carpenter 
shop, under the tutelage of a Mr. John 
Burroughs, an honest, God-fearing man. 
His assistant, Mr. McFarlane, was, beyond 
question in my estimation, the truest, 
sweetest-dispositionecl Christian it was 
ever my lot to meet. I here confess, to my 
own shame and the honor of the noble 
lives of these two men, that nothing but 
my own natural depravity kept me from 
becoming a Christian after I became inti- 
mate, as I did, with the beauty and purity 
of their daily life. 

I found my old chum, Kinch, enjoying 
himself here under the name of Flanni- 
gan, No. 36. His term had already half 
expired. I was placed in D section, Tom 
Benfield being the master, and soon began 
to make a good impression because of my 



TOM FOGARTY 95 

aptitude in learning my daily lessons in 
school and in workshop. 

One thought occurs to me which I 
want to interject into my narrative just 
at this point. I have had a very wide per- 
sonal acquaintance with criminals, in and 
out of prison, and also with prison life 
reformatory and corrective, and the ex- 
perience of my life has taught me that the 
best behaved prisoner, man or boy, is 
usually the professional criminal. 

Your accidental convict is always in a 
state of rebellion. His mind had planned 
other and better things for itself. He 
readily incurs the suspicion, yes, even the 
hatred of his guard or keeper, by his al- 
most involuntary breach of some of the 
many minor rules laid down for his daily 
conduct. He soon finds himself punished 
for doing things that he knows are done 
with impunity by others more cunning 
than himself. He feels that he is a 
marked man, and if he is so unwise as to 
attempt to resent this imposition, his life, 
irksome at best, is often made intolerable. 

On the other hand, the professional 
comes already primed for the ordeal be- 
fore him. He has listened many times 
with eager ears, while older graduates 
have gleefully recounted the various 
tricks and subterfuges practiced by them 
to alleviate or soften the asperities of 
prison life. Besides, there is no resent- 
ment in his breast against any of the pris- 
on officials because of his misfortune. He 



96 TOM FOOARTY 

may, and often does, harbor a deep-seated 
feeling of bitterness and revenge against 
the policeman or detective who "pinched" 
him, but that will keep until he has "done 
his bit." In the meantime here he is just 
where he fully expected to be, a little 
sooner than he anticipated, perhaps, but, 
never mind — the proper thing, in fact, the 
only thing to do, is to act wise and get on 
the right side of the "screws." While 
serving my term at Feltham, I was a 
model prisoner. This can be easily veri- 
fied by the records. 

It was the custom in those days, at the 
end of each quarter, to give a good con- 
duct stripe, to be worn on the right sleeve, 
to every prisoner who had managed to 
escape punishment for the previous three 
months. On Dec. 31, 1860, I received my 
first good conduct stripe, and on the last 
day of September, 1863, I was given my 
last. I had not failed in getting one at 
any time through my whole term. So, for 
the last thirteen days of my sentence, I 
wore twelve stripes stitched on my arm, 
as an indication of my excellent conduct. 

In adition, I wore a band of red, one of 
white, and one of yellow, encircling my 
arm, denoting monitorship in the school- 
room, the section and the workshop, re- 
spectively. Quite a record for good con- 
duct, one would naturally remark, and 
many predicted good things that would 
happen to me because of my docility and 
obedience. And yet I doubt if in that 



TOM FOGARTY 97 

whole gathering of immature law-break- 
ers, there could be found my equal for 
hellish rascality and thoroughbred wick- 
edness. 

The place was more of the nature of a 
work-school than a prison. Its title — 
"Middlesex Industrial School" — indicates 
very completely, the intentions of its 
founders. A very large amount of free- 
dom was given to the boys within the con- 
fines of the place. We we're dressed 
warmly, and fed sufficiently well. At night 
we slept in large dormitories — fifty ham- 
mocks in each room — in the nominal 
charge of the section monitors. A more 
baneful, pernicious system than this was 
never invented by the arch-fiend himself. 
I do not care to say more than this, that 
any good derived from the teachings of 
the schoolroom, workshop or church dur- 
ing the day, was more than counter-bal- 
anced by the evil thoughts and words, and 
the corrupt and impure practices indulged 
in and perpetrated in the dormitories at 
night. I trust they have been long since 
abolished. 

More than a generation has elapsed 
since the days of which I write. I have 
been a participant in many acts and scenes 
since that time. Under very peculiar cir- 
cumstances and in many strange places, I 
have met with some of my old companions 
and associates of the old school. And al- 
though I am sorry to say I left Feltham 
worse, I believe, morally, than on the day 



98 TOM FOGARTY 

of my entry, if that was possible, yet I 
have always had a sneaking regard for the 
school and a tender regret for the days 
mis-spent within its confines. 

Now and then it would happen that the 
memory of the old London life would 
prove too much for some one of the boys 
or young men, and there would be a sud- 
den flitting. The result would inevitably 
be the return of the culprit and his flog- 
ging in public in the presence of the sec- 
tion to which he belonged. 

This propensity on the part of the boys 
came near involving me in serious trouble 
one time, in spite of all my cunning and 
shrewdness. 

While I was still in section D, among my 
mates was one, Thomas Hopkins, No. 176. 
He was quite a favorite with me. On a 
certain occasion he sounded me as to the 
feasibility of escaping and not being re- 
taken. I don't know why, but I always 
felt that there was no hope in that direc- 
tion, and I plainly told him so. So the 
matter was dropped. 

Young Hopkins, however, was not dis- 
posed to give the idea up so easily. . I 
think he worked in the tailor shop. He 
and some three or four others who 
-worked with him, determined they would 
test it for themselves. One dark night 
they very quietly slipped out of their re- 
spective dormitory windows, and were off 
for London and freedom. 

Just before daybreak the next morning, 



TOM FOGARTY §Q 

we in section D were awakened by the 
noise of the unlocking of the doors, and by 
the voice of the Master, Mr. Benfield. 

I sat up in bed and saw in the doorway 
the drill sergeant, Bourne, and the gov- 
ernor. While I was still wondering, Mr. 
Benfield strode over to my bed and, point- 
ing tragically at me, said: 

"That boy is privy to the whole thing. 
Take him with yon, Sergeant Bourne; he 
was privy to the whole thing." 

Many a hearty laugh have I and others 
had over that charge, since then, but at 
that time it was no laughing matter. 

Hopkins had chosen my window for his 
point of departure, and had tied his sheets 
to the rail at the head of my hammock. 
This he did because he knew I would keep 
quiet, even should I awake while he was 
getting a vay. 

I protested my innocence, but they led 
me away to a solitary cell. There I was 
kept on bread and water for two days, 
when Hopkins and some of the others were 
brought back. They stated positively that 
I knew nothing about their plans. This, 
coupled with my previous record, saved 
me, in spite of the fact that Mr. BenfieM 
persisted in believing me guilty. He treat- 
ed me harshly from that time forward, 
and I am confident that my subsequent 
transference to section F alone saved me 
from many a report and punishment that 
would have resulted from his dislike of 
me. 



too TOM &OGARTY 

When I went to Feltham I was in my 
fourteenth year, and the three years spent 
there made quite a change in my personal 
appearance. I eagerly rushed up to Lon- 
don on the daj r of my liberation and made 
my way at once to the by-ways of West- 
minster, the place of my birth. 

I had sent a private message to my 
father by Kinch Jackson, when he was re- 
leased, giving him particulars of my sen- 
tence, my name and story, etc., and I re- 
ceived a letter from him under an assumed 
name, giving me lots of good advice and 
counsel, for the benefit of the authorities, 
and several little items of information 
which *I alone understood. He had prom- 
ised to visit me, but he came not, neither 
did I receive any more letters. When I 
went among my old acquaintances, I soon 
learned the reason for this. Father was 
serving one of his usual periodic sentences 
for some infraction of the law. 

Kinch, when I met him, was apparently 
overjoyed to see me again. He had grown 
quite manly looking, his cheeks being 
adorned with thin, straggling whiskers, 
which he evidently admired very much. 
But as I often told him afterwards, he 
stroked, and rubbed, and pulled at them 
so incessantly, that he gave them no 
chance to grow. 

"Hullo, 274!" he cried, as soon as we met. 
"Why, Tommy, ole boy, come an' 'ave sum- 
mut." 

We went into a dive or low concert sa- 



TOM FOQABTT 101 

loon on Tothill street, and soon we were 
seated in the tap-room with our foaming 
pewters on the table at hand. The fre- 
quenters of the place, as they passed in or 
out, nearly all recognized and spoke to 
Kinch. To many of them, he introduced 
me as Fred Fogarty's son, "jist hout frum 
doin' a bit." The usual result was an in- 
vitation to drink. I noticed, also, that the 
women seemed desirous of talking with 
me about my experience, and even joked 
and drank with me. I began to realize the 
fact that three years had made a vast 
change in my life. While the singing was 
going on, Kinch related to me his adven- 
tures since his arrival in the city. 

"I'm a doin' orl right, Tommy," said he. 
"See 'ere. Thems ther kind o' things to 
'ave in yer kick." And he pulled out a 
small handful of gold from his inside 
pocket. 

"If yer want a couple o' quid or so, Tom- 
my, 'ere it is for yer. When yer git to 
work agin it'll be orl right." 

I thanked him for his friendly offer, and 
told him his conduct was just what I had 
always expected of him. At the same 
time I did not hesitate to help myself 
from his pile. 

He was. flush of money just at that 
time, having made a successful trip to 
some out-lying town with some house- 
workers. For perhaps a wek after our 
first meeting he played the" part of host, 
taking me to theaters and places of 



io2 . TOM FOGARTY 

amusement, and making me acquainted 
with many things that I had been too 
young to know practically before my trip 
to Feltham. When his money gave out, 
we went to rooming together, and during 
that winter we sometimes worked to- 
gether on some job, but more often alone. 
In any and every event, we divided up 
fairly, I think. 

When the grfeat prize-fight between 
Heenan and King occurred, we had 
planned to go and see it. Something hap- 
pened that prevented my going, and Kinch 
went down alone. At the scene of the 
fight he met with a former associate, who 
came to our room shortly after, and the 
result was Kinch soon after went off with 
him to do a job at some little country 
town, and failed to return. 

My father was released in the spring, 
and for a short time we lived together. I 
made several efforts to get work and live 
honestly, but some little temptation would 
soon bring me back to the old life. Father 
was getting along in years. Born in 1810, 
and living the rapid, dissolute life he had, 
he naturally felt some of the infirmities 
of his age. But he never manifested any 
desire or inclination to change his manner 
of life. With all his vice, he was an ex- 
ceptionally brainy man, and he recognized 
the fact that out of himself there could 
come no change for good. And he dared 
not hope for help from others. 

In the heat of summer, during the 



TOM FOGABTY I63 

week of the great battle between the 
Kersarge and Alabama, while the whole 
city was excited over the escape of Capt. 
Semmes, I received a message from Capt. 
Brookes asking me to come down to Felt- 
ham on matters of importance to myself. 
I said nothing- to father, but quietly 
slipped down to the school, and was re- 
ceived in a very encouraging manner both 
by the governor and by the chaplain. 

In the course of a long conversation 
with me, the following day, Capt. Brookes 
gave me very plainly to understand that 
by ways known only to themselves, the 
prison authorities had managed to Keep 
thoroughly conversant with my manner of 
life during my few months of liberty in 
London. 

He expressed a great interest in my 
future, and by various examples, showed 
me the inevitable result of my present 
course, and wound up by advising me to go 
to Canada. I "was just at the age and of 
the disposition to welcome anything or go 
anywhere that involved a change of scene, 
so I very readily agreed that it would, 
perhaps, be better for me to leave Eng- 
land. He told me to think it over, and 
give him an answer the next day. 

I went around among the boys, and was 
welcomed very gladly by those who had 
known me of old. They inquired as to the 
whereabouts of this or that former in- 
mate, and I gave them all the information 
I possibly could. 



io 4 TOM FOGARTT 

The next day I gave a final assent to 
Capt. Brookes' proposal. I Ijad always 
represented myself as an orphan to the 
authorities, so they knew nothing of fath- 
er's existence. Immediate preparations 
were made for my passage. I was fur- 
nished with a painted wooden chest to 
hold my clothing. Two complete outfits, 
I think, were given me, then I was intro- 
duced to another younger lad — probably 
twelve years of age — who was going to be 
my companion on the voyage. Some excel- 
lent advice was given us by Capt. Brookes 
and Rev. Mr. Pilkington, then with a part- 
ing wave of the hand, I bade farewell to 
old Feltham, and started on my road to a 
new world, and, as I sometimes foolishly 
imagined, perhaps to a new and better life. 

On our arrival in Liverpool, we were met 
at the depot by an agent who had received 
notice of our coming. He cared for us, at- 
tended to all our needs, and saw us safely 
away on ship-board. 

On a bright afternoon in the latter part 
of June, 1864, the clippership, "Guy Man- 
nering," left the dock at Liverpool, and 
moved slowly down the Mersey toward the 
sea, carrying nearly 500 souls of various 
nationalities, bound for the Eldorado of 
the western ocean. And on her deck, lone- 
ly among the crowd waving their farewells 
to friends ashore, stood Tom Fogarty, the 
born Ishmael of the London streets, with 
his little chance companion by his side. 




CHAPTER XL 

THE LANDING IN THE NEW WORLD. 

FTER a rough and tedi- 
ous passage of nearly 
five weeks' duration, we 
were landed at the once- 
famous Castle Garden, 
on the Battery, in New 
York. At that time a 
large tide of immigration was pouring in- 
to the United States from Europe; and 
thousands landed daily at the port of Xew 
York, many of them drawn thither by the 
enormous bounties offered for volunteers 
and substitutes for the army. 

It was just after the fall of Atlanta, and 
the scene that met my eyes, as I w r alked 
up town, could only be compared to a 
vast military bee-hive. Gold w T as at a 
premium, one dollar in gold being worth 
about two dollars and fifty cents in green- 
backs. I remember how 7 delighted I was, 
when I exchanged my few pounds of Eng- 
lish money for American currency, to find 
my small stock of wealth more than doub- 
led by the transaction. 

On the voyage I had made the acquaint- 
ance of tw T o men w r ho were natives of Bir- 
mingham. Like myself, they w T ere steer- 
age passengers, and they had taken a 
great deal of notice of me, which w T as 
very pleasing to me, as they were both of 
mature age and evidently shrewd men of 



lo6 fOM FOGABTT 

the world. They had learned from me 
that I and my companion were ticketed 
through to Toronto, in Canada, and, as 
soon as we were landed they offered to 
buy our tickets if we should want to stay 
in New York. I had an idea that Toronto 
was better suited to, and offered an easier 
field for my talents, so I refused to sell, 
but the lad was charmed by the sights and 
sounds of the busy city, and readily agreed 
to sell. In consequence, we parted there 
and then, and I have never seen or heard 
of him since. 

A few days after, we crossed into Canada 
by way of the Suspension Bridge, and I 
stood, for a few moments, on the banks of 
Niagara and looked, with deep interest, at 
the enormous, awe-inspiring sea of water 
pouring, in endless flood, over the falls. 

The next day we arrived at Toronto, 
and before nightfall I found myself sur- 
rounded by a group of congenial spirits; 
most of them Feltham graduates, but a 
few were American born. They gave me 
a hearty welcome, and while they kept me 
busy answering questions, concerning 
those left behind in London, they were 
very genrous and free, treating me, at 
short intervals, to all manner of fancy 
liquors and drinks. The result was I soon 
became oblivious to my surroundings, and 
I have no definite idea of my manner of life 
for the ensuing two or three days, as my 
whole system was completely dominated 
by rum. 



TOM FOOARTY 



107 




108 TOM FOGARTY 

Among the gang there was a bright 
young fellow, about my own age, named 
Jack Spencer — his number formerly at 
Feltham had been 238, 1 think — who had 
been very cordial in his greeting on my 
arrival, and had offered to help me finan- 
cially. One morning, about the end of my 
first week in Toronto, he came to my bed- 
side as I slept in drunken stupor, and, 
after awakening me, told me I must 
straighten up, as he had a scheme whereby 
we both could make a pot of money. 

I distinctly remember how mean and 
wretched I felt as I followed Spencer down 
stairs and out into the street. In com- 
pany with nry old partner, Kinch Jackson, 
I had often imbibed more beer than I 
could conveniently carry, but I had never 
gone through such a continuous drunken 
debauch as this had been. Oh, how I suf- 
fered! I had but one definite thought 
and resolution — first, to allay, if possible, 
the awful thirst that possessed me, and 
then, under no circumstances, would 1 
ever make such a fool and beast of myself 
again. The road to hell is paved with just 
such resolutions. Of a truth, I was laying 
a fine foundation for my future in the 
New Land. 

As soon as I was in fit condition, Spen- 
cer escorted me to the City Hall and ush- 
ered me into the presence of as pretty a 
pair of scoundrels as it has ever been my 
lot to meet — and my acquaintance in that 
line has not been very limited, 



TOM FOG ARTY 109 

" 'Ere, Aleck," said Spencer, addressing 
one of the men — a small, villainous-look- 
ing, hump-backed individual — "this 'eres 
Tommie Fogarty, wot I told you about." 

They greeted me very pleasantly, and 
after a drink around, one of them asked 
Jack if he had posted me about the busi- 
ness in hand. 

"No, I aint said nothink to 'im, honly I 
told 'im there was a charnce to make a 
reglar pot o' money — same as I 'ave," an- 
swered Spencer. 

"Well, it's this way," said the taller of 
the two. 

"I dunno but he's too small — how old are 
yer?" turning abruptly to me. 

"Eighteen," was my reply. 

"Oh, he's orl right; he's holder than me," 
chimed in Spencer. 

"Well, we'll try it, anyhow. You be at 
the depot this evening, and we'll go to 
Buffalo. You keep him with you, Jack, 
and keep him straight. Tell him how the 
land lays, and we'll talk it over tonight 
on the road." 

During the afternoon Spencer enlight- 
ened me as to the object of our coming 
trip. My new acquaintances were en- 
gaged in the extremely lucrative business 
of "Sub-running" and "Bounty- jumping." 

"During the latter years of the war, large 
bounties were offered by the city, county 
and state governments to induce men to 
enlist, in order that their quota of men, 
called for by the general government at 



no TOM FOG ARTY 

Washington, might be filled. When this 
failed, conscription was resorted to. The 
result was, that many wealthy men were 
"drafted," and these would gladly pay 
sums that were almost enormous, for sub- 
stitutes to take their places in the ranks. 
Here was a splendid opportunity for fraud, 
which was eagerly taken advantage of by 
hundreds, and even thousands, of men. 
They went from one recruiting point to 
another, all over the North, and enlisted, 
then just as soon as they received the 
bounty money, a companion provided a 
suit of citizens' clothes and they moved 
forward to new pastures. To such an ex- 
tent was this carried, that I here affirm 
that I afterwards made the acquaintance 
of a colored man who kept a saloon on 
York street, Toronto, who boasted that he 
had taken the bounty some twenty-five or 
twenty-six times, without ever having to 
go to the front. So much, by way of ex- 
planation. • 

That night we left Toronto for the 
States. It was determined that we should 
go to Lockport, and the larger man— 
whose name was Crow — gave us tickets 
and told us to be sure and not appear to 
recognize them on the train. On the 
road, Spencer told me of several trips he 
had made with these men and others, en- 
gaged in the same business, and explained 
the method of escape after the money was 
secured. 

On reaching Lockport, no time was lost, 



TOM FOG ARTY in 

but at once I was taken up to the recruit- 
ing office and entered as a substitute. I 
passed through an extremely superficial 
examination by a doctor, and then was 
regularly sworn in; renouncing all alleg- 
iance to all foreign potentates and powers, 
especially to the sovereign of the land of 
my birth. 

So far, so good. It was necessary for me 
to pass some other official — to this day I 
do not know what was his office or title — 
and while we were waiting, the men from 
Toronto kept me company and cheered me 
up with several stiff drinks of whisky. 
They overdid it. 

Presently, a door opened, and I, in corn- 
many with a number of others, was 
marched into a room before an officer who 
asked some questions of each, and then 
passed them on. By the time I had 
reached the front of the desk where this 
official sat, everything in the place was 
spinning around before my disordered 
vision, and I had completely lost control of 
my tongue. 

Something was said, some question 
asked, and I found nryself giving what I 
thought was a very witty answer, for 
which I got a punch in the back from the 
butt end of a gu^in the hands of one of 
the guards. Then something was said 
about the army wanting men, not drunken 
boys, and I was bundled out into the arms 
of my Toronto friends, who were com- 
pletely disgusted, and with many curses 



ii2 TOM FOG ARTY 

freely expressed their opinion of my con- 
duct. 

I cared but very little for their abuse. 
My whole desire was to get off somewhere 
by myself and just sleep and sleep. So I 
wandered off my way, and they went 
theirs. The next morning a citizen of 
Lockport, when he came to open his office, 
found me curled up like a dog, on the mat 
by his door, fast asleep. 

I suppose I must have appeared very 
woe-begone and miserable. I was ques- 
tioned closely by the man who had found 
me, and he interested others in my story. 
I merely stated that I was a greenhorn 
emigrant from England, brought over 
from Toronto by parties to enlist, and 
abandoned by them because I was re- 
jected 03^ the military authorities. 

One man kindly took me to his home, 
and, in a few days, work was found for me 
at a sash factory and planing mill owned 
by a Mr. Jackson, who was, at that time, 
I think, mayor of Lockport. Then, in a 
short while, I obtained a situation as clerk 
in a hardware store, in the lower town, 
kept by a noble, kind-hearted gentleman 
named Beverly. He manifested a kindly 
interest in me and my future. He was 
forbearing and gentle jfeth me, excusing 
my many mistakes and faults, and by his 
evident regard for me, he brought into my 
barren life new emotions, and opened up 
depths of thought that I had never previ- 
ously experienced. 



TOM FUG ARTY 113 

He induced me to attend Sunday School, 
and also evening" instruction in vocal 
music. He began to make preparations 
for taking me into his own home with his 
mother, and, in fact, an altogether new 
life, brighter, better and happier by far 
than anything I had ever hoped for, began 
to dawn before me. But it was not to 
be. 

What right had I to expect the comfort 
and peace of a home of respectability? I 
had made a false start. When questioned 
as to my antecedents, in self-defense I had 
lied. I could not hope for pity, compas- 
sion, fellowship or aid from an}^ one of 
that group that surrounded me that first 
morning in Lockport, if I had told the 
truth and owned myself a waif of the Lon- 
don slums, expatriated, probably as much 
for my country's good as for my own. 
My early training, my inclination, led me 
to hide the truth, as a matter of course; 
so I told my little story and added to it as 
circumstances or the curiosity of some in- 
quisitive acquaintance, demanded; wind- 
ing myself up in the meshes of a fanciful 
cobweb of untruth that proved too strong 
for my weak will to break, when it became 
irksome and a new power within me be- 
gan to cry out for freedom. That cry was 
stifled in my breast: under an assumed 
name, I went on living a daily lie, and I 
paid the penalty for my deceit by years of 
sorrow, shame and suffering. 

I spent most of my time in the lower 



H4 TOM FOG ARTY 

town, very seldom, indeed, during the 
winter, going up the hill to the city by 
the locks. 

One memorable afternoon, however, I 
had been up town, and, coming across the 
canal bridge, I stopped for a moment to 
look at the boats moving along through 
the masses of broken ice. This was in 
March, 1865, and there was a feeling of 
spring in the air. 

I started briskly away from the bridge 
in a hurry to get back to the store, and, 
turning a corner, my heart fairly came in- 
to my mouth, as I came face to face with 
an old Feltham chum. 

He was so near to the corner, that we 
had met and passed before there was time 
to more than casually glance at each 
other. But in that momentary look I had 
seen a gleam of puzzled inquiry break over 
the well-known face that told me, only too 
well, that recognition would speedily fol- 
low. I walked on as rapidly as I dared, 
hoping that I might reach the next turn- 
ing, and then the speed that had often 
been my salvation in former days, should 
be exercised once more. But in this I was 
disappointed; I had gone but a short dis- 
tance, when I heard a hurrying step be- 
hind, while the familiar Cockney accent 
and inflection of speech, broke on my dis- 
gusted ears, as my would-be friend called 
out, "'Alio, there! Wot's yer 'urry, 274?" 

Stifling a curse that rose to my lips, I 
walked steadily on, paying no apparent 



TOM FOG ARTY 115 

heed, until he laid his dirty hand on my 
shoulder. I turned, with a simulated loot 
of surprise, and, with rather an abortive 
imitation of what I conceived to be 
Yankee dialect, I asked what he wanted 
with me. 

"W'y, look 'ere," said he, "I carnt be 
mistaken, yer know. You know me. I'm 
Denny Kennedy — wot was 175 at Feltham, 
yer know." 

But I assured him, in the very best lan- 
guage at my command, that I guessed that 
I did not know him, and, what was more 
to the purpose, I told him I reckoned he 
didn't know, either: that he was barking 
up the wrong tree and had got me mixed 
ii]) with some other coon, so he'd better 
skedaddle on and tackle someone else. 

As 1 walked away I tried to make myself 
believe that T had hoodwinked him, bat, 
dee]) in my heart I felt that he knew me, 
and that he would never rest until he made 
me acknowledge his acquaintance. 

Oh, how I hated him as I marched on, 
block after block, anywhere away from 
the direction of the store. I turned cor- 
ner after corner, believing that he was 
shadowing me, although I could see no 
signs of him. As I passed the door of a 
well-patronized billiard hall, I thought I 
saw a chance to throw him over, so I 
turned back, abruptly, and entering, I 
seated myself among some onlookers of a 
game that was in progress. For more 
than an hour I sat, apparently interested 



li6 TOM FOG ARTY 

in the varying fortunes of the players, but, 
in reality, my whole attention was riveted 
on those who entered through the swing- 
ing doors from the street. Finally, with a 
deep fueling of satisfaction, I left the hall 
and slipped rapidly through the gathering 
gloom of the evening, my mind busy con- 
cocting a plausible excuse for my long 
absence from the store. 

For a few days I lived in constant fear 
of his appearance. So much did I dread 
the possibility of his discovering my 
whereabouts, and the exposure that might 
result therefrom, that I thought seriously 
of running away and disappearing quietly, 
leaving no trace behind. But as day after 
day passed, I grew more hopeful, and once 
more I began to dream of a quiet, restful 
future. I was building on sand. 

Mr. Beverly did a thriving business with 
a number of peddlers, who drove through 
the adjacent country exchanging tinware 
and queensware for rags, etc., all of which 
in turn was bought by Mr. Beverly and re- 
sold in car-load lots. 

One morning, probably ten days after 
my adventure up town, I was engaged with 
two peddlers in the warehouse adjoining 
the store. The door was open, and I stood 
bent over, taking note of the weight of 
some material on the scales, when, at the 
sound of one word, I turned involuntarily, 
and looked straight into the cunning eyes 
of Dennis Kennedy. I made no defense; 
attempted no denial; simply said "get out 



TOM FOQABTY 117 

and wait," and as lie walked out, I turned 
and went on with my work, outwardly 
calm, but with a hell-storm of passion 
raging- within. How I cursed my miser- 
able luck, as I termed it. How I berated 
myself for my idiotic weakness in being 
Caught so easily. I went over the whole 
scene again and again, mentally check- 
mating Mr. Kennedy and driving him igno- 
miniously from the warehouse; and yet 1 
could not but admire the simplicity and 
skill of his attack. 

He had found my resting place and then, 
at the right moment, had snared me by 
merely uttering* the nickname that for 
years, in times gone by, had been my very 
own among those who knew me most in- 
timately. In spite of myself, I turned 
with a smile at the sound of that name, 
and as I turned, I acknowledged myself 
beaten. 

I was in no hurry to go out to meet my 
obtrusive friend; it was a very unpalatable 
dose for me to take, but I saw no way to 
avoid it. When at last I left the store, I 
walked away down-town towards the out- 
skirts, knowing he would be close on my 
trail. I kept on, until I came to a small 
grove of chestnut trees, seated myself on a 
fallen log and looked for my man. He was 
close at hand, coming towards me from 
the railroad track, which ran near, and to 
add to my disgust and anger, I saw that he 
had a companion with him. 

They were fairly well dressed, each of 



1 18 TOM FOG ARTY 

them wearing a suit of a rather loud plaid 
pattern much affected at that period hy- 
men of their class and would-be sports, in 
general. 

"Well, 'ere we are at larst," said Ken- 
nedy, seating himself beside me on the 
log. "This is Johnnie Collins — Boston 
Collins they calls 'im — he's a friend 'o' 
mine, Tommie; we're doin' gopher work 
together, and I tell yer he's just a A 
number one, and no mistake. I tole 'im 
about you, so its orl right." 

I acknowledged the introduction, and 
took mental stock of Mr. Collins. ■ There 
was nothing out of the ordinary in his 
appearance, except that I noticed the 
neatness and good taste of his neck-wear 
and the whiteness of his linen, forming, as 
they did, a vivid contrast to the general 
air of slovenliness and grime that was 
habitual with Kennedy. 

After a few remarks of a general nature, 
I asked why they had taken the trouble to 
hunt me out. "I showed you plain 
enough the other day that I didn't want to 
know you; and it seems to me you ought 
to be fly enough to take a tumble to your- 
self and let me alone." 

"Well, that's jest it, Tommie," he re- 
plied. "I wasn't werry pertikler about 
knowin' yer or wot you was doin'. We're 
makin' lots of sugar; look at this," and he 
flashed a thick roll of bills, "but I wasn't 
goin' to let you give me the laugh if I 
knowed it, as I told Boston that arter- 



TOM FOQARTY 



"9 




120 TOM FOGARTY 

noon; so we just 'unted you up, and 'ere 
ye' are. You queered yerself, Tommie, 
w'en yer tried to stall me orf, yer know." 

We talked together for a short time, and 
then we parted, I agreeing to meet them 
the following evening in a certain saloon 
up town, which they were making their 
headquarters. As we separated, Collin? 
said a word to me that lifted him consid- 
erably in my estimation: 

"See here* kid," said he — he was a few 
years older than I — "You don't have to do 
nothin' crooked if yer don't want to. If 
you want to square it, you kin jest bet I 
aint a goin' to do nuthin' to hinder. Just 
make a note o' that." 

"O' corse not," broke in Kennedy with a 
laugh. "Wot do we care? Honly if 'e's 
goin* to square it, that wont hinder 'im a 
puttin' 'is friends on to hanythink good 
wot e' knows of; will it, Tommie old boy?" 

He waved his hand in parting salute, and 
I walked back to the store, my whole be- 
ing filled with bitterness and hatred to- 
ward him and the rest of the world, and 
contempt for myself, for I plainly saw 
what the inevitable result would be. 



CHAPTER XII. 



BACK TO TORONTO, 




THE following evening, at 
the appointed time, I 
walked into the saloon 
and met Mr. Kennedy. 
Collins was there, and 
•some half dozen other 
men to whom Kennedy 
wished to introduce me, 
but I vetoed that proposition at once, and 
made him understand, distinctly, that if he 
didn't want me to kick over the traces, he 
must accord me the privilege of choosing 
my own acquaintances. 

Collins supported me in this, remarking 
that they were "only a rank lot o' lushers; 
not a good man among 'em." 

We sat down at a table in a little alcove 
and talked over old times in London and at 
Feltham. Kennedy told me of his doings 
in Whitechapel, after his discharge, and of 
his life since landing in America, and I 
warmed up and related my experience in 
the new land. 

Boston Collins I found to be very reti- 
cent; only putting in an occasional word, 
sufficient to show he was listening to the 
conversation. He impressed me very fav- 
orably, at the time, as a man who would 
make a good working pal if one wanted to 
go back to the old life. This impression 
was completely confirmed by an associa- 



ill TOM FOGfARTT 

tion with him some years afterwards in 
New York City. 

Kennedy was very talkative and jocular 
in a rnde, boisterous way. He plied me 
with offers of drink and cigars, bnt he was 
not smooth enough, nor sufficiently skill- 
ful to lead me far in that direction. Fear 
of exposure made me fraternize with him 
to the extent of meeting him in this ques- 
tionable place, but the same fear was my 
safeguard against his bungling attempts 
to draw me on, and in those days drink was 
not my master. In a round about way he 
tried to gain some information from me 
concerning the general lay of the land in 
the lower town of Lockport, and I noticed 
that Collins was keenly attentive to all I 
said in reply to Kennedy's questions; but 
I had been too well trained to permit such 
a novice in the art of pumping to draw 
anything out of me that I wished to re- 
tain. As I quietly let myself into my bed- 
room that night, after parting with them, 
I felt assured that nothing I had said 
could be of use to them in any crooked 
work they might contemplate doing. I 
found considerable satisfaction in this 
thought, not because I had become more 
honest than of old, but because I had 
grown to love the new life that was open- 
ing up before me, and hated, with bitter 
hatred, the man whose hand seemed to be 
stretched out to wantonly drag me back to 
the old way. 

Strange paradox. During the short 



TOM FOGARTY 23 

period that I had been living in quiet and 
peace in Lockport; earning my daily 
bread by honest work, and forming ac- 
quaintance and friendship with good men 
and women, many a night had I gone to 
my bed after a pleasant evening spent in 
delightful company, and then, in the quiet 
of my own room, there would come upon 
me an intense longing to be back once 
more among the old familiar crew; to 
hear, once again, the stories of tricks 
turned and cunning evasions of our com- 
mon enemy, the police. Then I would 
toss restlessly, sometimes for hours, in my 
bed with the same feeling of restraint up- 
on me that I have so often felt in prison 
cell. This was the Ishmaelite blood as- 
serting itself, I suppose. Yet, in spite of 
this fact, no sooner did there appear a 
probability of my being forced to relin- 
quish my present position, than at once I 
was up in arms against whoever should 
prove to be the agent to' cause my loss. I 
never rightly estimated the comfort of my 
surroundings, until I felt myself in danger 
of being parted from them. 

I continued to meet Collins and Kennedy 
at intervals for about a week. They did 
some work in their line, in the town, but I 
can truthfully say they accomplished it 
without my aid or counsel. Kennedy ex- 
pected certain things of me, but I disap- 
pointed him. 

Mr. Beverly had placed so much confi- 
dence in me, that for some time it had 



124 T0M FOG ARTY 

been part of my duty to open the store 
safe in the morning, and see that it was 
securely locked at night. 

One night, after every one had left, ex- 
cept the tinsmith, who was hammering 
away on some urgent order in the work- 
shop in the rear of the store, I closed the 
safe, as usual, but did not lock it. I left 
nothing of value in it. When morning 
dawned, I was in Canada; once more a 
fugitive, back again into the old life, but I 
laughed as I rolled on towards Toronto, 
thinking how neatly I had fooled Denny 
Kennedy. 

I laughed then, but in my reckless after- 
life, in prison and in freedom, I often 
looked back with longing and regret to 
the possibilities I forfeited by that night's 
work. 

Toronto, in the spring of 1865, was full 
of an undesirable, miscellaneous assort- 
ment of immigrants from the United 
States. They had nothing to recommend 
them, except that they were uniformly 
lavish in spending their money. Some 
were refugees from the South; driven 
from their homes, for the time being, by 
the war. Some were from the North; self- 
exiled to avoid the draft. Besides these, 
there was a horde of "bounty-jumpers" 
and "sub-runners" continually on the 
move, slipping across the line to points in 
adjacent states and returning to Toronto 
with their ill-gotten gains. I found no 
lack of congenial spirits in this colony on 



TOM FOOARTT 



125 




126 TOM FOGARTY 

the day I landed from my trip back from 
Loekport. 

Feltham was well represented, and I 
found a few more who had come out from 
England during my absence in the states. 
They were all very glad, apparently, to see 
me again, and I resumed the old way of 
living, drinking and carousing as if my 
life for the past half year had been only an 
idle, pleasant dream. Money was plentiful, 
and everyone was spending with careless 
hand, and I, of course, was not one whit 
behind the best or worst of them. 

Among the Feltham graduates was a 
young man whose number had been 349, I 
think. We called him Thummy, for a nick- 
name. I heard of him many years after- 
wards as a married man, settled down to a 
life of respectability and honesty, so I 
shall content myself by only speaking of 
him by that name. He was a jovial fel- 
low, very good company for a man of his 
manner of life. We were in F Section to- 
gether in the school, and we naturally 
fraternized on our meeting in Toronto. 

He had been rather unfortunate, I 
should judge, so I staked him, bought him 
some new clothing, and we proceeded to 
get rid of the dollars I had brought from 
Loekport. I have squandered many hun- 
dreds of dollars since that time; dollars to 
which I w^as no more entitled than I was 
to them, but I confess I derived less pleas- 
ure from them than from any money that 
I ever handled afterwards. 



TOM FOGARTY 127 

As if to prove that it was possible for a 
Feltham boy to live an honest life, even 
among snch a lawless crew as we were, 
there was a certain young man, Aleck 
Metge by name, living* and working in 
Toronto, and seemingly respected by all 
who knew him. He worked for a man 
who kept a corn and feed store, and the 
boys were quite eager to take me around 
to see him. He had worked with me in the 
carpenter's shop at Feltham, so I wished 
to see him again, and, in company with 
Thummy, I called upon him and was intro- 
duced, by him, to his employer. 

After leaving the store, Thummy told me 
that the old man who owned the place 
was wealthy, and that he kept his money 
on the premises. He said* that he and 
others of the gang, had been trying to 
work Aleck so that they could touch the 
place, but they had been unsuccessful. He 
expressed great contempt for Metge: said 
if Aleck had any spirit in him, he could 
get away, any night he chose, with enough 
to take him back to England in style. 
"But," said he "he's a chump. 'E'll go on 
workin' there for years, with the stuff 
right hunder 'is nose, and never touch 
none of it. But, jest wait a little," he con- 
tinued. "You keep yer heye on me, Tom- 
mie, and see if I don't git a swipe at 'im 
afore long." 

This meant that Thummy intended mak- 
ing a play for the hoard of Aleck's em- 
ployer, and was an opening for me to chip 



128 TOM FOG ARTY 

in if I wanted a hand in it. I, however, 
had not qnite got rid of all my money, and 
felt no inclination to join him, but I spoke 
encouragingly to him about the job, tell- 
ing him to go ahead, as it was evidently 
an easy thing to get into the place, if any- 
thing was there to pay for the trouble. 
The following Sunday evening, without 
saying anything more to me, he made the 
attempt and failed. 

I was staying alone at a rather preten- 
tious hotel on Simcoe street, but on this 
Sunday night Jack Spencer came in late 
to see me on some trivial business, and 
stayed quite a long time in my company. 

Early next morning I was awakened by 
the porter, who notified me that a gentle- 
man desired to see me in the hotel office. 
When I went down, I saw Spencer in com- 
pany with two men, whom I at once recog- 
nized as detectives. One of them, McGarry 
by name, spoke to me very politely and 
asked to be excused for waking me. Said 
he: "Do you know this young man?" 

"Yes, I am slightly acquainted with 
him." 

"Well, he says that he spent some hours 
in your company yesterday, is that so?" 

I was about to answer, when Spencer 
broke in, saying: "Wasn't I with you till" 
t— here, the other officer shut off his re- 
mark abruptly, closing his mouth by the 
pressure of a strong hand. 

I assured McGarry that Spencer had 
spent part of the evening in my company. 



TOM FOG ARTY 129 

"Glad to hear that," said he, "as it will 
be the means of saving Mr. Spencer a 
great deal of trouble. Perhaps you will 
be kind enough to walk down to the chief 
with us, and personally inform him of that 
fact." 

"Certainly, I'll go with pleasure. Please 
wait a few moments till I arrange some 
matters in my room, and I'll be at your 
service." 

I started briskly and cheerfully up the 
stairs, and, entering my room, locked the 
door. I merely wanted to gain time to 
think. I knew what would be the out- 
come, although I was sure that they had 
no case against me. I looked down into 
the street, but saw there was no outlet for 
me in that direction, so I gathered my be- 
longings together, locked them up, and 
then walked quietly down, and was es- 
corted to the central office, where I found 
the atmosphere very gloomy and chilly. 

I had been very i eckless in spending 
money since my return to Toronto. I had 
bought a great deal of flashy clothing and 
showy jewelry. Among other things, I 
bought a white hat with a huge brim — a 
regular sombrero — which I wore for a few 
days, and then gave it to Thnmmy. On the 
Sunday night in question, he, in company 
with another of the gang, made an entry 
into the house where Aleck Metge was em- 
ployed. The expectation was that all of 
the household except Aleck, would be 
absent, but in this they were mistaken. 



130 TOM FOG ARTY 

One of the gang held the ladder steady, 
and then was expected to look out below, 
while the other did the work. Everything 
worked very smoothly at first; the win- 
dow was easily opened, and an entrance 
gained. They believed they knew just 
where the stuff they were after was kept 
and, as I afterward heard Thummy de- 
clare, it seemed to be "a regular gift." 
But — "man proposes, and God disposes" — 
in crossing the room, heavily carpeted, 
a careless foot was placed on a stove hole, 
ventilator opening or something of the 
kind that was covered with a sheet of 
tin or iron, and although the sensitive, 
trained foot of the marauder was lifted 
instantly, barely touching it for a mo- 
ment, it proved sufficient to alarm the 
householder who was sitting reading in 
the room beneath. 

After a moment of breathless suspense, 
every nerve strung to its utmost tension, 
and the whole body turned into a huge ap- 
prehensive ear, eager to catch the faintest 
sound, my Feltham friend became reas- 
sured, and with a muttered curse at his 
own stupidity and carelessness, he passed 
on to a strongly-bound chest in the cor- 
ner of the room, and had just commenced 
to insert a small, steel "jimmy" or crow- 
bar into the crack beneath the lid, when 
the door flew open and the room was flood- 
ed with light. There was a brief struggle: 
a few blows were struck, and then the 
light was extinguished. The neighbor- 



TOM FOG ARTY 131 

hood was aroused, but the cause of all the 
commotion managed to make his escape, 
taking with him a bruised scalp, and leav- 
ing behind, in exchange, my broa'd- 
brimmed hat. The result was that by 10 
o'clock the next morning, the drag-net 
had been thrown out, and gathered in its 
meshes a half dozen young men, each of 
whom had served an aprenticeship in 
crime in London, and had received his 
diploma at Feltham Reformatory. 

We had a preliminary hearing, and were 
remanded for a few days, to enable the 
officers to gather more evidence against 
us. I was possessed with such a feeling of 
contempt and hatred for the whole gang, 
espeeialh^ toward Spencer, that I could 
barely restrain myself when we were 
placed in the dock together. The conse- 
quence was that as soon as we were 
-turned loose in the jail, that is, let out of 
our cells for a short period of exercise, I 
went at Spencer, and managed to vent 
some of my spite before I was torn away 
by the attendant officer. As a punishment 
for this, I was shoved into a dark cell. I 
believe that the dark cell has been com- 
pletely banished from the prisons of the 
land, but thirty-five years ago they were 
considered an absolute necessity. I spent 
the greater part of two daj^s and one 
night in that dreadful hole, and I confess 
that the horror of it stayed with me for 
many a year afterward. 

I had read somewhere of a man who had 



i& TOM FOG ARTY 

kept himself from insanity under just 
such circumstances, by throwing into the 
gloom of the cell a solitary pin that he 
had luckily found in his clothing, and then 
spending hour after hour groping about 
the stone floor in search of it. In imita- 
tion of his action, I tore some buttons 
from my clothing, and tried to amuse my^ 
self by sowing them broadcast over the 
cell, and then hunting for them. I had 
grown tired of this, and was lying on the 
floor conjuring up schemes of future ven- 
geance for all this suffering, when the 
door was opened, and I was called out into 
the blinding light of day. At its best, the 
interior of a jail or prison always wears a 
sombre shade, but it seemed very bright 
and cheerful to me when I staggered out 
into the hallway, in obedience to the com- 
mand of the turnkey. He led the way, and 
I followed, my eyes blinking in the sudden 
accession of light. We entered a room, 
and I found myself standing speechless 
and ashamed in the presence of Mr. 
Beverly. 

He spoke to me in the kindest manner 
that was possible. Told me how shocked 
and grieved he had been by my conduct. 
He showed me, by his words, that he had 
become acquainted with, at least, a por- 
tion of my early life, and yet expressed 
nothing but pity and forgiveness for me. 
He ended by offering to take me back with 
him to resume our old relationship toward 
each other; assuring me that, excepting 



TOM FOGARTT 



133 




134 TOM FOG ARTY 

his mother and one other person, no one in 
Lockport knew of my villainy. I knew 
that his offer was made in good faith, and 
for a brief space of time I felt like accept- 
ing his generous offer, but in the next in- 
stant I shook my head negatively, and he 
went sorrowfully away. 

I knew myself well enough to know that 
if I went with him it would only be a 
question of time when, in all probability, I 
would go through the same disgraceful 
proceeding, and again bring sorrow and 
shame to him. Through all the years of 
my sin-cursed life, I have ever treasured a 
deep respect for the memory of that man. 

When the day came for trial, I secured 
the services of a lawyer, but, in spite of his 
efforts, I, in common with the rest of the 
gang, was sentenced to thirty days at 
hard labor in the jail. We were a very un- 
ruly set. While breaking rock we man- 
aged to keep ourselves and everybody 
'round us, in hot water. We were dis- 
charged shortly after the date of Presi- 
dent Lincoln's assassination, and I found 
myself once more free in the streets of 
Toronto thoroughly convinced that its 
climate was unsuitable to any very 
lengthy stay on my part. 

There is an old saying that "there is 
honor among thieves;" if there be, I have 
never been able to find it. On the con- 
trary, my experience has taught me that 
as a class, law-breakers and criminals are 
totally unreliable in their actions toward 



TOM FOG ARTY 135 

each other. The man who, todaj^, will risk 
liberty, and even life, to save a companion 
from the clutch of the law, will be more 
than likely to skin him of the last cent 
and, perhaps, even sell him, tomorrow. 

When arrested, I had quite a quantity of 
valuable stuff of one description or 
another, such as clothing, valises and 
other belongings that I had bought while 
flush of money. One of the gang, who was 
not gathered in with the rest, came to see 
us while we were waiting for trial, and 
also acted as a messenger for any of us 
who wanted word carried to outside asso- 
ciates or friends. I empowered him to get 
my clothing, etc., from the hotel, and told 
him to iix himself up, and hold the rest for 
me. He disappeared from Toronto, tak- 
ing* everything with him, so, on my dis- 
charge, I had nothing but the suit on my 
back. 

For a few months I traveled up and 
down through Canada, working the differ- 
ent towns, sometimes in company with 
others, sometimes alone. In the late sum- 
mer I was arrested for a robbery commit- 
ted near Oakville. I barely escaped a 
three years' term at Penetangnishene, on 
this occasion. The magistrate became in- 
terested in me, and I still remember how 
I chuckled to myself when he remarked, 
"It is very evident that you have been led 
astray by some others. Your face is a 
warrant that this is your first step in this 
direction." Then he gave me some excel- 



i 3 6 TOM FOG ARTY 

lent advice, telling me that I was not ac- 
customed to the snares and wickedness 
that abounded in this country. In conclu- 
sion, he sentenced me to three months' im- 
prisonment, and I was extremely thankful 
that it was no worse. 

The following- winter I drifted to the oil 
region back of Sarnia. Oil Springs, Petro- 
lia, Bothwell and the adjoining neighbor- 
hood, was tilled with speculators from all 
parts of Canada and from the United 
States, who were flush of money and reck- 
less. Where the carcass is, there will, 
also, be the birds of prey. The opportun- 
ity for easy booty brought a vast number 
of birds of prey to the field. Early in the 
spring — a few days prior to St. Patrick's ■ 
Day, I was forced to leave in a hurry. 1 
had never had an opportunity to learn to 
ride, but stern necessity is apt to prove a 
very rapid and capable teacher. A por- 
tion of the country between Oil Springs 
and the St. Clair river was flooded; but 
this did not hinder me from making a 
helter-skelter ride across country to 
Mooretown, where I induced a ferry man 
to row me over to the town of St. Clair, in 
Michigan. The horse, poor beast, was so 
utterly used up, that he fell from ex- 
haustion, and T was forced to abandon 
him about a half mile from Mooretown. 
Thus, Canada got rid of a very undesirable 
resident. 




STILL ON THE DOWNWARD PATH. 

SHORT time after leav- 
ing- Canada so abruptly, 
i found myself in Chi- 
cago. Although that 
£ity, in 1866, could not 
compare in magnitude 
or beauty with the 
Chicago of todaj^, yet 
it was a very vigor- 
ous, energetic young giant at that time, 
and offered extraordinary inducements to 
members of the law-breaking fraternity, 
among whom I quickly found myself at 
home. London was well represented by a 
colony of crooks, most of whom were for- 
mer denizens of Whitechapel and the 
neighborhood of the Seven Dials. 

I met with some of the Felt ham gradu- 
ates and, as a matter of wourse, they were 
following the old life. It is rather a sad 
commentary on the result* of the old-time 
method of prison reform when I am com- 
pelled to admit that in all my career I have 
never met with but three Feltham lads 
who were earning their living by honest 
labor, except those I saw croing their daily 
tasks in various prisons. One reason for 
this is because of the vile life I led for so 
many years, which, to a great extent, de- 
barred me from meeting those who, per- 
haps, had chosen a quiet, honest life in 



138 TOM FOGABTY 

some farming community or had settled 
down as respectable, law-abiding* citizens 
in some of the smaller towns or villages 
of the land. 

As I write, the memory of many en- 
counters that I have had with one. or 
another of old reform school associates 
comes very vividly to my mind. I have met 
them under many peculiar circumstances 
and in r.nlooked-for places. As an instance 
in point. On one occasion I was striving 
to have r. good time in the city of Detroit, 
Mich. I was flush of money, as it hap- 
pened, at the time, and, in company with a 
chum, I was taking in all the various 
places of amusement. One night we vis- 
ited a popular variety theater on Jefferson 
avenue, and I sat for awhile listening, al- 
most heedlessly, to the usual routine of 
senseless semi-ribald jokes that formed 
the stock-in-trade for the negro minstrel 
performers at such low-grade entertain- 
ments. I could find no distraction for my 
mind in such a program, and it was quite a 
relief to me when my partner suggested 
that we "finish our beer and git out." 

Just then, a performer on the stage 
ended a verse of a song, and as an inter- 
lude began to dance a peculiar step or 
shuffle such as I had never seen before in 
America, but it recalled my earlier days in 
London. I persuaded my friend to wait 
and have another drink, and then I looked 
up the actor's name. This gave me no 
clue, and as he was blacked up I did not 



TOM FOOARTY 



139 




i 4 o TOM FOGARTY 

recognize him, although I felt sure he was 
born amidst the smoke of London. 

We managed to strike up an acquaint- 
ance with a party at an adjoining table, 
and a little later were drinking and chat- 
ting together, while an after-piece was be- 
ing presented. The actor who had previ- 
ously claimed my attention by his dancing, 
had removed the burnt cork from his face, 
and was playing a prominent part in the 
farce then occupying the boards, and I was 
watching him with curious interest when 
a sudden, left-handed blow he struck with 
his cane, revealed his identity to me in an 
instant, and I knew him immediately as 
Charley Worley of Section C, at Feltham. 
(No. 247, I think). 

Through the medium of one of the wait- 
ers, I at once made myself known to him, 
and, after the entertainment was ended 
for the night, we met, and for a few days 
we nearly killed ourselves trying to have 
"a good time" together. 

My first visit to Chicago was of short 
duration. About the last week in May of 
this year, occurred the invasion of Canada 
and the attack upon Fort Erie, or Kidge- 
way, by an armed body of Fenians, under 
the command of Gen. O'Neil. When the 
news of the battle reached Chicago, it 
created a wonderful amount of excitement 
and enthusiasm among the Irish-American 
portion of the population. Meetings 
were held, stirring and inflammatory reso- 
lutions were passed, and money was sub- 



TOM FOQARTY 141 

scribed freely to help the Fenian cause. 

In the midst of it all, a company of men 
from St. Louis, Mo., and Peoria, 111., com- 
manded by Capt. Moran and Lieut. Dunne, 
came to Chicago, and their ranks were at 
once swelled by volunteers from that city. 
Believing that the result would be a gen- 
eral upheaval of the established condition 
of things, and seeing therein great possi- 
bilities for money-getting in my nefarious 
line, I determined that I would play a part- 
in the coming invasion; so, when the train 
loaded down with patriots, pulled out from 
the Chicago depot, I went with them. 

For some reason we were side-tracked 
for a short time at Ashtabula, and after- 
wards at Cleveland, O.. where we spent one 
night. Here, because of my "Cockney" or 
London accent, I was denounced as an 
English spy by a zealous old patriot, and 
for a short period things looked very 
squally for me, but my cunning and au- 
dacity pulled me through, after I had been 
rather roughly handled by some of my 
new chums. 

On our arrival in Buffalo, N. Y., we found 
that the government had put its foot down 
against the whole movement. We were 
billeted in Carr's Old Melodeon, a disused 
variety theater, on Washington street, and 
the sympathetic citizens supplied us with 
food. Finding that the great opportuni- 
ties for getting money that I had dreamed 
of were not likely to materialize, I very 
soon tired of the role I had been playing, 



U2 TOM FOGARTY 

and went back to my old scenes and com- 
panions to resume my own familiar parts. 

During the ensuing two years I visited a 
great part of the country. Traveling 
from the head of Lake Superior as far 
south as Charleston, S. C, and Savannah, 
Ga. Never at rest, never knowing one 
moment's real peace, such as I now enjoy 
by God's grace. At times I had money in 
abundance and was able to live riotously 
and extravagantly; then, in a few days, I 
would be broke, taking desperate chances 
which usually ended by my being hunted, 
like a rat, from place to place. 

The great Democratic convention held 
in New York City in the summer of 1868, 
presented so many possible chances for 
"easy work," that it drew the crooked fra- 
ternity from all parts, to that city. I 
left Savannah in the early summer, and 
for a time New York seemed very profit- 
able and pleasant to me, but the inevitable 
end came sooner than I expected. On the 
14th day of December of that year I stood 
in the dock before Recorder Hackett; a 
just judge, but one who had already be- 
come noted for his extreme severity to 
the lawless element. Something must 
have softened his heart that day, for I was 
agreeably surprised when, after a few 
sharply-uttered words of warning, as to 
future consequences, he sentenced me to 
two and a half years imprisonment at 
hard labor, and a few days later I entered 
the doors of the celebrated prison on the 



TOM FOGARTY 143 

Hudson; my eyes almost involuntarily 
noting the scriptural sentence deeply 
graven over the portal, to the truth of 
which my heart and my past experience 
assented. Truly "the way of the trans- 
gressor is hard." 

Hard! yes, indeed, it is hard; uneven, 
barren and sterile of all enjoyment worth 
having, even when, for a time, success 
seems to crown it. But when the pendu- 
lum swings the opposite way; then it be- 
comes a veritable path of hell to a large 
majority even of those who are usually 
considered the most case-hardened and 
impervious to emotion. My many years of 
bitter personal experience on this line 
should entitle me to speak with some de- 
gree of certainty in the matter; and I 
positively assert that the greatest dare- 
devil and the most reckless incorrigible, 
justly confined today behind the barred 
door of a prison, spends many a bad quar- 
ter-hour in the lonely vigil of night, with 
regret and remorse moving every fiber of 
his being, while the walls of his narrow 
cell, in fancy, each moment draw nearer 
to each other, and the very air he breathes 
grows oppressive and stifling. Even the 
light step of the felt-shod guard, as Ue 
passes on his nightly round, is a welcome 
relief at such a moment. The guard 
glances in and passes quietly on his way, 
and the inmate of the cell is left alone — 
with memory. 

Sing Sing, thirty years ago, was far 



i 4 4 TOM FO&ARTY 

different from the prison today. In 
November, John T. Hoffman was 
elected governor, and that naturally en- 
tailed a complete change in the manage- 
ment of the prison. I arrived just in time 
to witness the wholesale change. 

The state of affairs during that winter 
was utterly disgraceful. For several weeks 
I, with a large number of other new com- 
ers, was shut up in solitary confinement 
because of lack of clothing to cover us 
sufficiently to enable us to work on the 
different contracts in the shops. Yet, in 
spite of the fact that some of us were 
without vests, and others had no coats, we 
were marched down to the river side 
morning and evening to empty our cell 
buckets. The Hudson river, at the point 
where the prison is situated, is some two 
miles in width, I should judge, consequent- 
ly the wintry wind struck our ill-clad 
forms with an awful force, sometimes 
sending the contents of our buckets back 
over us in a blinding spray, chilling one's 
very marrow. The life I had been leading 
previous to my arrest, supplemented by 
the close confinement of my cell in the 
Tombs prison and here at Sing Sing, had 
utterly unfitted me to withstand such ex- 
posure; so it came about that by the first 
of March I was in the hospital suffering 
from a serious attack of inflammation of 
the lungs, and the doctor kindly notified 
me that if I had any relatives or friends 
that I wished to see, or if I desired the 



145 



^sfices of a priest, I would better attend to 
Ttie matter at once, as my race was surely 
run. But God, in His infinite mercy, 
spared me and gave me another oppor- 
tunity to recognize and appreciate His 
wonderful grace and love. 

Two men were instrumental, I believe, in 
bringing me back from the very jaws of 
death. One was young Ketcham, the Wall 
street banker's son, whose trial, conviction 
and sentence was the sensation of the 
day when it occurred. The other was a 
German by the name of Mueller, sentenced 
for life, I think. " 

Ketcham wore a well-fitting striped suit 
and probably slept within the confines of 
the prison, but in every other respect, he 
appeared to have all the liberty that was 
possible. He was well supplied with 
money, and took evident delight in spend- 
ing some of it to alleviate the sufferings 
of less fortunate fellow-prisoners, who 
were inmates of the hospital. He supplied 
me with fruit and table delicacies that 
tempted my appetite and quenched my 
thirst in the hour of my greatest need, and 
I shall ever have respect for his large- 
hearted goodness. 

Mueller was a hospital nurse — a drudge 
— but his attentive care for me and others, 
and the beautiful consistency of his daily 
life, in the midst of such a profane, reck- 
less crew as we were, inspired me and 
many another hardened professional 
rogue with a feeling of veneration for him 



146 TOM FOGARTY 

and a vague longing for the faith he pro- 
fessed. He gave me a copy of a book he 
had written, and some of the sentences I 
read therein made such an impression on 
me that I carried the memory of them 
through all my after life. 

When the day came that I was pro- 
nounced cured, I was placed in the saddle- 
shop gang to act as waiter for the keeper 
and convicts in his charge, who were work- 
ing on contract for Tompkins & Hayden. 
For the men employed by the different 
contractors in the various shops of the 
prison, the authorities received a certain 
specified amount per diem, and in addition 
to supplying the convicts with food and 
clothing, the state also furnished each 
shop with a waiter free of cost to the con- 
tractor. This was the position I was called 
upon to fill. I was to act as messenger for 
the keeper, sweep the shop, clean the win- 
dows, carry washing water to the men at 
their benches, and be everybody's dog in 
general. A position coveted by many of 
the men, but utterly abhorred by me. 

The keeper was a new man from New 
York, named Rountree, appointed because 
of his efficient work in the recent cam- 
paign. (In those days there was no such 
thing known as registration, and John I. 
Davenport was an unknown quantity). He, 
Rountree, was one of the boys, and I soon 
ingratiated myself in his favor. I recov- 
ered my strength very rapidly, and began 
to lay plans to make my prison life as tol- 



TOM FOGABTY 147. 

erable as possible under the circumstances. 

In marching* to and from the cell-house, 
the mess room or the workshops, of course 
the lock step was used — that is, each man 
placed his right hand upon the right 
shoulder of the man in front, the left 
hand, when not in use carrying the cell- 
bucket or the food supplied for supper, 
was to be held extended down the side, 
each man's face being turned obliquely to- 
ward the keeper or guard in charge. In 
marching, they used a full stride or step, 
except when entering any building or 
when moving past the mess-room windows 
to pick up the evening meal; then a short, 
indescribable shuffling step was the cor- 
rect thing'. It was also the rule at that 
time, that the tallest man should lead each 
gang. 

Louis Rigel, a German lad of about 18 
years of age, was, by far, the tallest in the 
saddle shop, but, for some reason, probab- 
ly because of his awkwardness, he took 
second place, and the gang was led by a 
burly representative of the city of Brook- 
lyn, named Williams. I think he was serv- 
ing his second term. He was quite pro- 
ficient at saddle making, and was a sort of 
self-constituted boss or bully of the shop. 
Of course, things have changed for the bet- 
ter in the management of prisons since the 
days of which I write — nearly thirty years 
ago — and many things occurred daily then 
that would be impossible under the pres- 
ent improved system. By personal ex- 



148 TOM FOGABTY 

perience I am well aware of this fact; but 
that does not militate against the truth of 
my story, which is true as my memory re- 
cords it. 

One Saturday afternoon, probably two 
months after my discharge from the hos- 
pital, I had brought up some hot water, ob- 
tained with great difficulty from the en- 
gine room, and was distributing it among 
a favored few of the men, to be used for 
washing.handkerchiefs, and even socks, for 
the morrow. I had emptied one bucket, 
and on looking for its mate I found that 
Williams had coolly appropriated it and 
was washing his feet in the bucket. (The 
men were all employed on task work, and 
it was the custom to spend the greater 
part of each Saturday afternoon in a 
general cleaning up). 

During the whole of my life I was cursed 
with an uncontrollable, passionate temper 
which hurried me, time and again to my 
sorrow, into deeds on the spur of the 
moment's frenzy that were totally unwar- 
ranted by my size and physical make-up. 
Without a moment's hesitation, I pushed 
Williams over off the stool and walked 
over to the sink and emptied out the 
water. Mr. Rountree was away at the 
time, and a relief keeper sat in apparent 
unconcern, at the desk, reading a 
newspaper. 

As I came back from the sink, Williams, 
with one foot still bare, came towards me 
growling under his breath. I walked 



TOM FOGARTY 149 

around the opposite bench, and as calmly 
as I possibly could I told him if he wanted 
anything out of me, to follow me into the 
"cutting-out-room." To this he readily 
agreed, and I walked on down to the end 
of the long shop and entered the room 
mentioned. In a few minutes he, holding 
up a saddle as an excuse, signalled the 
keeper for permission, and then came 
eagerly hunting me. j 

When I entered the room there were 
two men in it, both close friends of mine. 
One, Charley Brown, was a quiet, studious 
Englishman, a square man sen-tup, I thor- 
oughly believe, by mistake for alleged par- 
ticipation in the New York riots. The 
other, Billy Bartlett, was a "Coniacker, 1 ' 
or counterfeiter to the manor born. He 
was serving a twelve-year sentence. 

The room was littered up with sewing 
horses and other paraphernalia of the 
workshop, and as soon as I entered I al- 
most shouted out: "Come and help me 
clean up this mess — I'm goin' to have a 
scrap." 

"Who with?" asked Billy, dropping his 
peculiar-shaped leather cutter's knife on 
the bench, as he turned in vigorously to 
helping me make more room. 

"Williams," was my reply, and it evoked 
a half-suppressed whistle from Bartlett. 

In the midst of our cleaning up, the door 
was pushed open, and the man from 
Brooklyn came blustering in. I can de- 
scribe his entry in no other words. 



ISO TOM FOQAKTY 

I stepped back near Bartiett's tabid, 
holding up my hand, and said: "Hold on a 
minute." 

"Hold on, nothin," said he, "what d'yer 
want now?" 

"How d'yer want ter fight?" I asked. 

"Anyhow," was the answer, as he came 
charging bull-headed at me. 



W T \W 



SING SING THIRTY YEARS AGO. 




to be whipped. 
a nasty hole, 



HE difference in our 
size and weight was 
so great, that Williams 
was utterly careless in 
his attack, believing 
that he would have 
me used up in one 
short round. I expected 
I had gotten myself into 
as usual, by my un- 
governable temper, and my only course 
was to inflict all the damage pos- 
sible on the other fellow and take my pun- 
ishment the best way I could. If I had 
had more room, the outcome might have 
been less satisfactory to me; as it was, he 
had me right at the outset hemmed in so 
that I was compelled to meet his mad rush 
half-way, in order to save myself. 

It was a disgusting, brutal fight from 
start to finish. My desperation nerved me 
with extra strength, so that my first blow 
seemed to stun him, and for a time I kept 
him at arm's length, using the skill ac- 
quired in many a hard battle in London. 
At length, he got his arm securely around 
nry neck, and holding me close to his body 
with a muttered "now, I've got yer," he 
began to drag me across the room, in spite 



152 TOM FOGABTY 

of my blows and strenuous efforts to free 
myself. Suddenly, he loosened one arm 
from my head, thereby uncovering my 
eyes, and I was horrified to see that his 
arm was stretched out to its fullest capac- 
ity, with his fingers just touching the 
knife Bartlett had left on the table. Fear 
lent me strength, as I braced my feet 
against the bench and threw him against 
a stitching horse. There was a saddler's 
hammer lying handy, and I struck him 
with that, and, in all probability would 
have struck him again and again with it, 
but one of the men tore it from my hand. 

It has taken longer to write this account 
than the actual affair occupied. After- 
ward, we washed up. I went out and se- 
cured some more water, and we bandaged 
up his wounded head, and I was able, 
through my position as waiter, to supply 
him with clothing to replace some of his 
which was torn in the conflict. This end- 
ed my trouble with Williams. From that 
day, until my discharge, we never again 
had one word of disagreement. 

Of course, it was soon known, even to 
Keeper Rountree, that Williams and I had 
fought. Mr. Hull, the foreman of the 
shop, devoted a great deal of his time the 
following Monday, to extolling me to my 
face for my great victory, as he termed it. 
He was a very little man, fond of boosting 
of his descent from Admiral Hull, of the 
war of 1812. I rather think Williams had 
bullied the little man. 



TOM FQQARTY J53 

The contract of Tomkins & Hayden, at 
that period, consisted of a foundry, ma- 
chine shop, forge room, grinding and buf- 
fing rooms, turning, plating and japanning 
rooms and the saddle shop. Over each of 
these departments there was a citizen 
foreman and one general foreman over all, 
whose name I have forgotten. The men in 
each shop worked on task work — so much 
perfect work being counted as a day's 
work, and allowance made for all over- 
work at the rate paid to the state by the 
contractors. This price varied in the dif- 
ferent shops, the average price being 
about 60 cents per day, I think. 

A short time after the Williams' affair, 
the general foreman asked me if I would 
like to work for the contractors. He said 
they needed a man who would be just and 
fearless, who would do the square thing 
by the men and by the firm, and he was 
good enough to say that he thought I was 
the man for the place. It would be part 
of my duty to weigh, examine or count 
the work of the men in the different de- 
partments, after it had been sorted, and 
then, after deducting the amount of the 
daily task and the spoiled work, I would 
give to each man credit on the shop's 
black-board for the amount of overwork 
due him. 

Not a very enticing job, since it would 
probably entail a certain amount of en- 
mity from some of the men, if the square' 
thing was done to all parties. But the 



154 TOM FOGARTT 

offer of $10 a month and certain per- 
quisites, that I well knew the value of, 
which were attached to the position, 
turned the scale, and I became a workman 
for the contractors, instead of the state. 

I found my daily life in the prison 
materially changed for the better by 
my acceptance of the new position. 
Of course, there were some thing's about it 
that were annoying; some of the convicts 
would ask and expect that I would favor 
them in the weight or count of their daily 
task, and when I failed to meet their ex- 
pectations, they were very ready with 
threats and abuse; but I had discounted 
all such disagreeable incidents by fully 
anticipating their occurrence. I knew 
what to expect, before I made the change, 
and found things much easier to bear than 
I had hoped for. 

Samuel E. Tompkins, of Newark, N. J., 
was the active member of the firm of con- 
tractors for whom I worked, and his 
nephew, Edward Tompkins, was foreman 
of the forge room and japanning rooms. 
He was a man of great mechanical ability. 
For some reason he took to me, and, by 
a great number of little kindly acts, such 
as men in his position can so easily per- 
form when they so desire, he helped to 
make my term in Sing Sing less burden- 
some than it otherwise would have been. 

There were several privileges pertaining 
to my new position. I could visit, without 
question, not only the shops of our own 



TOM FUGARTY 155 

contract, but those of others. At noon I 
was not compelled to march to the mess 
room and eat with the general body of 
prisoners, but, in company with some 
dozen or more who held similar positions 
on other contracts, I ate after the others 
had returned to work. As a rule I found 
that nearly all who held these desirable 
jobs and enjoyed their benefits, were men 
who were professional "crooks" or law 
breakers. The only exception, I believe, 
were men whose friends furnished them 
with money sufficient to buy them im- 
munity from the regular work, galling 
routine and discipline of the prison. For 
the poor fellow, incarcerated, probably, 
for his first offense, who had not experi- 
ence or cunning to guide him in his daily 
task, nor "stuff" to grease the itching 
palms of those who had control of his life 
for the time being, there was very little to 
lighten the gloom of his sentence, but a 
multitude of evils to bring despair to his 
heart. Many a time I have pitied some 
awkward fellow when I have seen him 
suffer punishment for some slight infrac- 
tion of the rules, such as I and others of 
my ilk perpetrated daily with impunity. 
Whatever of comfort there was in the 
prison at that day, your professional held 
a monopoly of it. To the great mass of 
prisoners the place was a veritable hell. 
Yet they were wont to declare that the 
mines at Clinton — the northern peniten- 
tiary — were a hundred-fold worse. 



156 TOM FOGARTY 

My allowance of $10 a month from the 
contractors, enabled me to keep myself 
well supplied with tobacco, coffee and 
many other luxuries of prison life. The 
discipline of the place was so lax that I 
found no difficulty in boiling coffee for my 
dinner, daily, or in indulging in an after- 
dinner smoke — something very much cov- 
eted by men in confinement. It also pro- 
cured me a lamp and oil for my cell at 
night. Many an hour, that otherwise 
would have been very cheerless, was 
brightened by that same lamp. Those 
who were not able to obtain one, would 
stand glued to the cell door at night until 
the bed bell rang, striving to read by the 
dim light reflected from the distant wall, 
holding the book sideways, while its pages 
were marked checker board fashion in 
black and white squares by the sombre 
shadow of the cross-barred door. 

On Sunday mornings we marched from 
the cell house to the mess room, and after 
breakfast we went to the chapel — just 
overhead — where we were given an oppor- 
tunity to hear some really excellent sing- 
ing and a sermon from the chaplain or 
some visitor. During my term many not- 
able men made addresses to the prisoners. 
I listened and criticised. When they spoke 
of God's wrath against sinners — as they 
very frequently did — and the punishment 
that would surely overtake all who con- 
tinued their evil ways, I readily agreed, 
mentally, to the justice of such doctrines, 



TOM FOGARTY 



157 




'striving to read by the dim light. 



158 TOM FOGARTY 

as I knew, full well, that my life deserved 
and entailed future punishment for me, if 
there was a life beyond the grave. I fully 
believed that if there was a hell I was a 
fit subject for it. 

Sometimes, they would talk of the won- 
derful compassion and love of God, our 
Father, for man. This I could never com- 
prehend. With a very few exceptions, all 
the men I had ever known were very far, 
indeed, from being lovable. However, 1 
supposed, if their assertions were true, 
the mankind that God loved was such as 
lived clean and square; attended church 
and obeyed His laws. I could not realize 
that He could care for such as I. Today it 
is as much a mystery to me as it was in 
that dead and gone time. The magnitude 
of such glorious grace and love is far be- 
yond my comprehension; but, one thing 1 
know, I, who write this, have experienced 
in myself the sublime fact that His tender 
love takes in the whole world of sinners. 

One Sunday morning as we passed a 
g*ang* at the mess room door after chapel, 
service, I heard a subdued signal cough, 
and, glancing up, I saw my old friend, Ken- 
nedy, doing the shuffle-step in an easy, nat- 
ural manner as he passed the open trap in 
the window to pick up his pan of rations 
for the rest of the day. With a look 1 
asked how long a term he had, and I re- 
member I felt gratified when he signaled 
back "five years." 

He had already served more than half 



TOM FOGARTY 159 

his term, and it was rather strange we 
had not recognized each other sooner. 1 
found him at work in the carpenter's shop 
a few days after this, and while ostensibly 
engaged in gathering up some sawdust for 
use in our tumbling barrels, I had quite a 
lengthy talk with him. He looked sickly 
and weak, and complained of ill health. 1 
remember he served his term and was dis- 
charged shortly before my term expired, 
but I never met with him afterward. 

The punishments meted out for any in- 
fraction of the rules were simply awful. 
The "shower bath" was in daily use. Men 
were suspended by their thumbs, some- 
times for very slight causes other than 
the personal spite of some guard or keep- 
er. It was a common thing to see men 
wearing the hideous, uncomfortable iro'n 
cage that was in vogue at that time. This 
was supposed to be worn day and night 
until the wrath of the authorities was ap- 
peased, but the average prisoner found it 
a simple matter to unlock the neck-band, 
when alone in his cell, and thus secure a 
comfortable night's sleep. 

The prison at Sing Sing is built on the 
side of a hill sloping down to the Hudson. 
At the time whereof I write, it had no en- 
circling wall as most other penal institu- 
tions have. The river itself formed an al- 
most impassable boundary on the west 
side. On the east stood the warden's 
house and cell houses, with the railroad 
running outside close under its walls 



160 TOM FOOARTY 

through a cutting. On the north stood a 
row of buildings comprising the work- 
shops of Tompkins & Hayden, while the 
west end was occupied by a row of lime 
kilns — the cooper shops and other con- 
tracts. These, together, formed a large 
quadrangle within which were the hos- 
pital, the mess room, the shoe shops and 
various other contracts. High up on the 
hillside, east of the railroad tracks, were 
the quarries, and beyond them a double 
line of guards and guard houses. 

The extremely lax discipline then main- 
tained, coupled with the brutality of the 
system of punishments, produced, as a 
natural result, numberless attempts at 
escape, which, in nearly every instance, 
proved abortive and futile, often to only 
end in bloodshed and death. 

On one occasion, during a sudden, vio- 
lent rain storm, a few desperate convicts 
broke from a gang working in the quarry, 
rushed down the hill-slope to the bridge 
crossing the railroad tracks in front of 
the warden's house and, in spite of the 
ready Winchesters of the guards, some 
five or six managed to drop from the 
bridge on to a passing coal train, and, 
climbing on the engine, they cut loose 
and dashed recklessly down the road to 
freedom. Most of them were recaptured 
in a very short time, and all of them, 
eventually. 

Shortly before my sentence began, a batch 
of prisoners at work in the auger shops 



TOM FOGARTY 161 

conspired to make a break for liberty. 
Their plans were apparently well laid, and 
at the designated moment they overpow- 
ered the keeper and ran for the north 
fence. The auger shop was at the ex- 
treme north end of the prison, under the 
saddle shop, and they had but a short dis- 
tance to run to get outside the prison 
grounds. But all their plans and their 
every move had been carried to head- 
quarters, so they were met by a shower of 
lead that laid some of them low and drove 
the others back crestfallen to meet heavy 
punishment for their futile attempt. 

On an average, about once a week, 
some fellow would slip away from his shop 
a few moments before quitting time, and 
stow himself away in some previously-se- 
lected spot; being provided with a small 
stock of food and usually assisted by some 
fellow prisoner. But they very seldom 
managed to elude the vigilance of the offi- 
cers. They were usually discovered and 
dragged out of their nests before many 
days were passed. Then, after running 
the gauntlet and being kicked and 
thumped by the guards and keepers — 
justly angry because oi loss of sleep — the 
wretched prisoner would be thrown into a 
dark cell and before he was allowed to re- 
turn to his work bench on the contract, 
he would be given such a dose as would 
deter him, one would suppose, from any 
repetition of his act. 

When the men were marched into the 



i62 TOM FOGARTY 

cell house at night, they went to their 
respective cells, each gang on a separate 
tier, and entering, held the cell door near- 
ly closed. On a signal from the keeper 
the doors were shut, each prisoner stand- 
ing' close to the door to be counted by 
the guard as he turned the key. To pre- 
vent the substitution of a dummy, we were 
compelled to thrust our fingers well out 
through the bars. Many cells had two 
occupants. When the cell mates proved 
congenial, which was very rarely the case, 
the hours of confinement were lightened 
by the companionship; when the reverse 
was the case, the time spent in the cell 
was something to be dreaded during the 
working hours of each day. 

At the conclusion of his count, each 
keeper reported to the principal the num- 
ber of prisoners on his tier, and if the 
total was correct, the bell was rung, call- 
ing the guards from their posts for the 
night. If there were any missing, a close 
investigation soon revealed the vacant 
cell and then the search began; the guards 
and keepers being compelled to perform 
extra duty until the culprit was discovered 
or the search abandoned. 



CHAPTER XV. 

INCIDENTS OF PRISON LIFE. 




DO not wish to take up 
too much space in de- 
scribing', in detail, my 
daily life and the many 
incidents of unusual 
character that occur- 
red during my sojourn 
at the "Mansion on 
the Hudson," but there 
were two that were especially noteworthy, 
and that caused quite a commotion among 
the prisoners. 

A large amount, possibly all of the pro- 
duct of the stone quarries, was converted 
into lime in the lime kilns, which were sit- 
uated at the extreme south end of the 
prison. There was a convenient dock for 
vessels, and during the season quite a 
number, at different times, were loaded 
there. 

One very bright, sunshiny day, I was 
working, as usual, in the shop, when we 
were all startled by the sound of shooting. 
I slipped out to the front door, and as T 
passed through the outer room, above the 
noise of the polishing barrels, I could hear 
the crack, crack of rifles that grew into a 
perfect fusilade by the time I peeped 
cautiously out through the entrance. I 
saw at once the cause of the uproar, and 



164 TOM FOQARTY 

recognized that I would be in no imminent 
danger, even on the outside, so out I went 
and planted myself at the west end of the 
shoe shop, in order that I might have a 
good view of the one-sided battle then in 
progress. 

My first look showed me a small vessel 
— a schooner, I think — bearing up the 
river, headed a little west of north. She 
was, probably, two hundred yards out into 
the stream, and about midway between 
the guard-house, on the west front, and 
the lime kiln docks. I could plainly see 
some men, in prison garb, on her deck, in 
the act of setting the main-sail. 

The work was being done in a very 
bungling manner; caused, I supposed, 
partly by ignorance, and partly by the 
excitement incidental to the occasion. 
The sail would be raised, each pull, quite 
a number of feet; eliciting hearty cheers 
from the convicts, who were looking on 
from the shoe-shop windows; but the men 
aboard apparently had not the power, or 
else knew not how to hold what they had 
gained, and the sheet would fall back some 
half-way or more each time, which 
brought forth a torrent of dissatisfied re- 
marks and eager suggestions from the ex- 
cited and sympathetic onlookers. But 
praise or blame was alike to the crew of 
the boat: they were too far out and too 
busy to hear or heed anything but the 
crack of the Winchesters, and the spiteful 
hum of the bullets. 



TOJkf FOGARTY 



165 




166 TOM FOGARTY 

Presently, one of the men pulling away 
at the rope, threw up his hands and fell 
writhing on the deck. The sail came down 
on the run, and one after another the men 
on deck dived- down into the hold. 

Not all of them. One man had been 
standing at the wheel, holding the boat 
steadily so that they might have the ad- 
vantage of the light wind that was blow- 
ing. When the rest of the men forsook 
the deck, he swiftly fastened the wheel in 
some manner, and ran forward to the 
hatchway where he stood evidently be- 
seeching his comrades to come on deck 
and help set the sail. But he pleaded in 
vain. Then he made several abortive at- 
tempts to raise the sail, unaided; and I re- 
member how I felt myself setting my 
teeth and exerting my muscles through 
admiration of his pluck and the intense 
desire that possessed me to help him in 
his hopeless task. Again and yet again he 
went to the hatchway and tried to coax or 
frighten the men below into a renewal of 
their effort; but he only wasted his breath. 

All this time the guards on the hillside, 
east of the prison, were blazing away 
whenever the opportunitj^ served. The 
guard house on the dock sent forth a con- 
stant fire, but he was seemingty heedless 
of it all. Once, when a bullet tore a splin- 
ter from the mast, close by his head, he 
turned and derisively placed the thumb of 
his one hand to his nose, at the same time 
waving the fingers in a contemptuous 



Tom Pooarty 167 

manner, as if in ridicule of such poor 
shooting. 

It was soon over. A swift little yacht 
came lightly flying down from the bay 
just north of the prison; on her decks 
were some of the keepers who had taken 
possession of her. She speedily ranged 
alongside of the schooner, and without any 
opposition, the would-be runaways were 
captured. 

By this time the schooner had worked 
along abreast of the central guard house; 
yet so close inshore that we could see all 
that occurred on her deck. Looking on 
from my safe position, I saw the keepers 
as they climbed over the side of the cap- 
tured boat, and I also saw one of the 
keepers run forward toward the man on 
the deck, as he stood alone, with folded 
arms, awaiting their action; and my heart 
was filled with disgust and hatred as I 
saw him sent reeling to the floor, bathed 
in blood, from a blow with a billy or re- 
volver butt, in the hands of a coward. 

I passed through my term at Sing Sing 
without incurring punishment of any 
kind. The keepers and other officials of 
the prison were uniformly kind to me. 
More than twenty-five years have passed 
since the day of which I write, and if 
there was, at any time, any bitterness in 
my heart toward any of those who held 
us in their custody, thank God it was all 
effaced when I found pardon and peace 
in His love. With malice toward none in 



i68 TOM FOGARTT 

my heart as I write, I am still constrained 
to call that blow a coward's stroke. 

Before going* to our cells that night, I 
learned the full particulars of the seizure 
of the boat. The convicts engaged in 
loading her with lime at the kiln dock, at 
a pre-concerted moment, turned on their 
guard, disarmed and bound him and then, 
after driving ashore the only sailor in 
charge, they cast off the lines and started 
recklessly on their fruitless attempt to 
win freedom. 

This incident furnished a welcome topic 
for discussion among the prisoners for 
quite a number of days. The vast major- 
ity, as a matter of course, felt that they 
could and would have done much better 
had the opportunity but been theirs. All 
such attempts, even when failures, caused 
the men to turn restlessly from side to 
side on their pallets at night, busily plan- 
ning and striving to concoct some scheme 
whereby freedom might be won. To what 
end? In most cases, in order that a few 
days or weeks of the old life, with its 
baneful pleasures, might be once more 
theirs, ending, as usual, in a term of im- 
prisonment. 

Looking back over the years, it seems 
to me that very few days elapsed before 
the "Mansion" was once more thrown in- 
to an uproar by an episode that startled 
and shocked the community in the town of 
Sing Sing, and caused renewed excitement 
in the prison. 



TOM FOQARTY 169 

There is, or was, a covered passage-way- 
extending from the cell house to the mess 
room. By this route the convict cooks 
and bakers were taken to their work each 
morning, some hours before the rest of 
the prisoners arose, in order that break- 
fast might be ready at the usual time. 
They were in charge of a regular keeper, 
and the men were, as a rule, of the class 
known as "trusties" — good conduct men. 

About daylight, one morning, the huge 
alarm bell on the prison roof, sent out a 
peal from its brazen throat, that awak- 
ened every convict, and, in an instant, 
probably one-half of them were screaming 
and shouting at the utmost limit of their 
lungs, to the noisy accompaniment made 
by rattling bucket-lids on the crossed 
bars of the cell doors. In the stillness of 
the night the bell could be heard for miles, 
and the people living in the neighborhood 
knew that its clangor meant mutiny or 
serious disturbance at the penitentiary. 
It also meant a possible chance to earn 
some money, as the authorities offered a 
liberal reward for the return of any es- 
caped convicts. 

We were later than usual, when we 
marched into the mess room for breakfast 
that morning, yet, even as we shuffled 
along in locked step, the news flew from 
mouth to mouth that the "night men" had 
overpowered their guard, had killed hira 
and had escaped. The keepers found it 
an impossible task to still the whispering, 



i?o TOM FOG ARTY 

busy tongues of the men that morning. 

During the course of the day the prison 
was thronged with visitors. They walked 
from shop to shop, talking noisily of what 
should be done, and of the awful conse- 
quences that would result to the prisoners 
in case any further disturbance should 
be attempted. The men well understood 
the motive of this talk, and conveyed 
their opinion of it to each by a covert 
glance or contemptuous look. Their only 
concern was to learn whether any, or all, 
of the men had been re-captured. 

Later information showed that the men 
had overpowered their guard — had bound 
and gagged him, and had placed him on a 
shelf or dresser, from which place he had 
rolled, falling heavily on the stone floor, 
where he "was found dead some hours later, 
by the watchman who discovered the es- 
cape. After securing the guard, they went 
upstairs to the "chapel," and forced their 
way into the state clothing room, in the 
northeast corner of the building, where 
they found citizen's clothing ready for 
their use. Be sure they were not long in 
changing their suits, and then, forcing a 
window, they slipped down to the ground 
and scattered each for his own place of 
shelter and safety. The first rays of 
light showed the pendant rope or sheeting 
to a "vigilant night-watchman, going his 
rounds from shop to shop, and he quickly 
gave the alarm that woke the silent pris- 
on, and started eager pursuers on their 



TOM FOG ARTY 171 

track. I believe they were all recaptured 
within a few days. They were tried at White 
Plains, but escaped the death penalty be- 
cause it was proved that heart disease 
was the actual cause of the keeper's death. 
Awful stories floated about through the 
shops, detailing the horrible punishments 
that were inflicted on these men after 
their return, but I had reason to believe 
that most of these tales were manufac- 
tured in the fertile imaginations of the 
convicts and had no foundation in actual 
fact. I think the re-captured men were 
drafted in the next batch to Clinton, to 
work in the much-dreaded mines. 

On the fourteenth day of March, 1871 — 
having served two years and three months 
of my sentence, and being credited with a 
commutation of three months for good 
conduct — I was discharged, and found my- 
self once more with the world before me 
and liberty' to make my own choice as to 
my future course in life. 

Night found me seated in the midst of a 
select circle of boon companions, in a 
notorious saloon kept by the Knapp Bros, 
in a basement at the corner of Hester 
street and the Bowery, New York. I de- 
liberately picked up and resumed the 
threads of the old life: was welcomed by 
the gang and went recklessly along in the 
old, criminal path; living the life of a 
veritable Ishmael — constantly at war with 
society and its laws, and in due time suffer- 
ing the inevitable consequences. 



CHAPTER XVI. 




that I led 
retained a 
complexion 



BACK TO THE BOWERY. 

HE term at Sing Sing had en- 
larged my circle of acquaint- 
ances, and I found myself 
very much at home with the 
gang that welcomed me on 
my return to the city. I was 
almost unknown to the po- 
lice and, in sprite of my re- 
cent term of imprisonment 
and the life of dissipation 
while at liberty, I still 
certain ruddy freshness of 
that imparted an air of 
boyish innocence to my appearance 
which I found very useful on many a try- 
ing occasion when, for certain reasons, 
suspicion was directed toward me. This 
fact was thoroughly appreciated by the 
older heads into whose companionship I 
now found myself cordially welcomed. 
One old timer, whose professional judg- 
ment and opinion was uniformly consid- 
ered worthy of respect by the gang, re- 
marked that I was possessed of "the 
squarest looking mug he'd ever seen in all 
his travels." I was also cursed "with a 
large amount of reckless daring and in- 
difference to consequences that led me in- 
'to many difficulties in my after life, but 
was esteemed a valuable recommendation 
by my associates of the Bowery, 



TOM FOGAtiTY 173 

For the next few months I lived a life of 
constant warfare against society. Summed 
up in a few words, it might be said that 
my days and nights were spent in a series 
of more or less successful robberies. At 
first I had for a partner a smooth, skillful 
Londoner, a man of many aliases, best 
known as "English Jimmy. " On a certain 
occasion we needed help, so a clever New 
Yorker — Joe McCarty, by name — was in- 
duced to join us and, finding the associa- 
tion mutually congenial and profitable, we 
continued to work together, until our 
partnership was dissolved by the hand of 
the law. 

As I look back on this period of my life 
and as incident after incident is brought 
vividly before me by memory, one fact 
stands out very clearly, and I marvel at 
the dense stupidity that it evinces on my 
part. I have already recorded the fact 
that nearly all my life had been spent in 
the company of men and women who sub- 
sisted by preying on others. I had been 
taught by precept, bitter experience and 
hard knocks, to look out for myself, no 
matter at what cost to my fellows. Yet, 
in spite of all this, there were other 
rogues, more crafty than I, who managed 
to share in all nry ill-gotten gains without 
taking any of the risks or sharing any of 
the perils that w r ere attached to the life I 
was leading. 

We made our headquarters at Knapp's 
place, but we also frequented many other 



174 TOM FOGARTY 

notorious dives and saloons in the lower 
wards of the city. One place on Broad- 
way, kept by an alderman, was a favorite 
resort with us, because of the peculiar 
character of many of its patrons. It had 
recently been brought into public notice 
through the killing of a well-known Phila- 
delphia bully by the keeper of an adjoin- 
ing dive. It was our custom, whenever we 
were more than ordinarily successful, to 
visit this splendidly-decorated den of in- 
famy and lavishly squander our money on 
a tribe of harpies — composed of variety 
actors, pugilists, pot-house politicians, ex- 
barkeepers and_ gamblers' touts — who 
would applaud our songs and stories; 
laugh at our jokes, and do, say or think 
anything that would prove agreeable to 
our foolish vanity, as long as our money 
covered all the expense of the entertain-, 
ment. I know they must have had many a 
hearty laugh at our expense when our 
backs were turned, and I am sure that I, 
at least, in addition to all my other follies 
and crimes, was such an egotistical fool 
at this period that I deserved all their 
ridicule, and more too. 

As an instance, one afternoon I and Eng- 
lish Jimmy, in company with Boston Col- 
lins — whose acquaintance I had lately re- 
newed — had spent some hours visiting 
various saloons in the Eighth Ward, and 
finally brought up at Prof. Clark's place 
on Houston street. When we entered the 
saloon, we had quite a little following of 



TOM FOGABTY 175 

the usual class; excellent, appreciative 
company as long as free liquor was flow- 
ing*. There were several men in the place, 
chatting* and drinking-, and in a short time 
we were all busily engaged discussing a 
recent international boat-race. This was 
before the days of Hanlon, and some one 
among the crew of drinkers wondered why 
the English were able to defeat the rep- 
resentative American oarsmen. "Oh, that 
question is easily answered," said bump- 
tious T, "it's all owing to the superiority of 
the English method of training." 

"Ah!" remarked a tall, wiry fellow; "I 
s'pose you're pretty well posted on that 
line?" " 

Here was my opportunity. I opened 
up, arid drawing to my aid all I could re- 
member that I had ever heard in this con- 
nection, adding to it a large assortment of 
ideas furnished by a fertile imagination, I 
described a truly wonderful method of 
physical training, each moment going 
deeper and deeper into details as I noted 
the eager look of attention on the face of 
the man who had questioned me, and the 
smiles of approval and admiration from 
the little circle that surrounded me. In 
the midst of it all, just when I had really 
begun to almost believe myself a past 
master in the art of fitting a man for a 
physical contest, Jimmy pushed his way to 
my side, with a short word of apology to 
my audience, and gave me to understand 
that important business demanded our 



176 TOM FOG ARTY 

presence elsewhere. Ordering* another 
round of drinks, I left the place, several of 
the men expressing their disappointment 
that I had not time to finish my talk. 

I walked after Jimmy and Collins con- 
siderably elated at my late success, but 
was complete]}^ set back when my partner 
turned on me and gave me a terrific 
tongue lashing and a few words of ex- 
planation that sobered me and left me 
crestfallen and ashamed. 

"When I saw and heard what you were 
doin', I done my best to giv yer the office," 
said Jimmy, when his indignation had 
somewhat cooled, "but, no, there was no 
gittin' yer to tumble to yerself. Them 
blokes 'ad yer so buttered up that yer 
wouldn't a tumbled if a brick 'ouse fell on 
yer. Oh, what a chump you are!" And I 
mentally agreed with the verdict. 

The inquisitive gentleman who had been 
seemingly so eager to sit at my feet and 
learn of me, was none other than Jim 
Cusick, a man of world-wide repute as a 
trainer, and acknowledged as an author- 
ity on all that pertained to his profession. 
He had caught me by my foolish vanity, 
and had put me through all my paces, 
holding me up to be laughed at and de- 
rided by the gang who were drinking at 
my expense. And I deserved it all. 

I have sat many a night at a card table 
with men who woud flatter me to the top 
of my bent; willing to stop the game at 
any moment to listen to, and uproariously 



TOM FOG ARTY 177 

laugh at, some foolish remark of mine, 
without either point or sense, and then, 
with many a word of praise for my excel- 
lent wit, they would skillfully rob me by 
their crooked manipulation of the cards. 
And I tried to think that I was enjoying 
life. Oh, the utter sin and folly of it all! 

There were other leeches. Some we 
were compelled to feed, in order to insure 
non-interference on their part. I am not 
writing this story for the purpose of ex- 
posing any person, or any set of officials — 
the vilest with whom I came in contact 
were no worse than myself, therefore, I 
have no stone to throw at any — but truth 
compels me to write that my experience 
with the guardians of the law and pub- 
lic peace in those by-gone days was not 
calculated to cause me to think very high- 
ly of their honesty whatever might be my 
opinion as to their ability as thief-takers. 

I remember one instance where one of 
these same officers played a part in a 
transaction that was carefully planned 
and carried through with boldness and 
skill only to end in bitter disappointment 
both to him and to the other participants. 

At that time, Broadway was very care- 
fully patrolled. The officer's beat was 
confined to one side of the street only. 
He would walk a certain distance in one 
direction, examining each door on the 
route, then, retracing his steps, he would 
repeat the same process on his backward 
march. The officers on other beats 



178 TOM FOGARTY 

usually walked around so many blocks, 
naturally giving ©rooked people a better 
opportunity to accomplish their work 
without detection. 

On the east side of Broadway, well down 
in the heart of the city, the main floor of 
one building was occupied by a firm en- 
gaged in the wholesale importation and 
sale of ribbons and laces. The firm did a 
very large business, and they had a cus- 
tom which has, since that time, grown in- 
to almost general use. Their whole stock 
of goods encased in card-board boxes, was 
left, each night, in its usual place on dis- 
play tables, the whole being merely cov- 
ered with plain white sheeting, and the 
store brilliantly lighted, so that even 
chance passers-by -were able to see the 
whole interior. The safe stood within 
plain view of the front door, and was 
painted white, so that any marks or at- 
tempted tampering with it, might be no- 
ticed by the police. Yet, in spite of all 
these precautions, the place was com- 
pletely looted one night, and nothing but 
a seeming accident prevented the loss of a 
very large amount of valuable property by 
the owners. 

Like many another job of its kind, this 
piece of 'work was proposed by a very re- 
spectable business man — respectable in 
the sense that he had the respect and con- 
fidence of his business associates— who 
kindly furnished a list of the goods es- 
pecially desired, and stood ready to pay 



TOM FOGARTY 179 

for the same when delivered. When the 
men who undertook the job, examined the 
premises, they found that the conditions 
were such that an entrance was not at all 
difficult. Just a few doors south, an inter- 
secting street ran eastward to the East 
Eiver. Only a short distance from the 
corner of Broadway, on the north side of 
the street, a store was in course of re- 
construction. A little investigation 
showed that the rear of this building and 
that of our Broadway importers were so 
close that the work of forcing an entrance 
was very much simplified. . The policeman 
who walked this beat was approached and 
sounded, and proved to be more than will- 
ing to stand in with the projected scheme. 
Arrangements were then made with the 
proper parties, in order that a hack might 
be on hand to carry away and deliver the 
expected booty to the "fence" or receiver. 
Everything moved along so smoothly, 
that when the appointed time came for 
the execution of the job, the men inter- 
ested felt absolutely confident of success. 
But the best-laid plans are, very often, 
thwarted by unexpected trifles. The en- 
try was easily effected through a window 
in the third story, which was reached from 
the top floor of the building undergoing 
repairs. An outlet into the hall was soon 
found, and the men — two in number — 
went speedily down into the common base- 
ment, the intervening doors offering very 
slight resistance to the well-made 






i8o TOM FOOARTY 

"screws" or skeleton keys, or, as a last 
resource, the power of the jointed "jim- 
my." From the basement a short stair- 
way led up to the main floor of the store, 
the doorway opening out in an angle or 
offset hidden from view of the passer-by 
on the street. 

At 10 o'clock the two men walked across 
from a saloon opposite and, passing 
through the vacant building, began their 
task; in less than thirty minutes they 
stood at the open door at the head of the 
basement stairway, facing the safe in the 
rear, and waiting patiently for the "office" 
or signal tap on the front window from 
their partner on Broadway. The whole of 
the rear half of the store was within their 
line of vision as they waited. Table after 
table stood loaded with boxes under their 
light covering of sheeting, and the onlook- 
ers' faces lighted up with satisfaction as 
they thought of the rich haul they were 
about to make. 

In a few minutes — that seemed very 
long to the waiting men — there came the 
expected tap, tap — then, after a breath- 
less interval, the noise of the policeman, 
as he shook the outer gate and, reaching 
through, tested the security of the lock of 
the inner door. On he goes, satisfied, his 
heavy, measured footfall making echo 
pleasant to the attentive ears of the two 
marauders. A little longer they wait, un- 
til the tap-tap is repeated, notifying them 
that the coast is clear; then, in perfect 



TOM FOGARTY 181 

security, with a confidence born of the 
knowledge that in case of discovery the 
way of escape is safely open, they method- 
ically strip each table and shelf in the 
rear half of the store, of all their load, 
except the front row of boxes on each 
table, which are left intact and the sheet- 
ing carefully draped and arranged to hide 
the deficit. The boxes are carried into 
the stairway and piled up, then, when the: 
warning signal comes, the time of waiting 
is profitably occupied in removing the con- 
tents of each box and stowing the same in 
immense bags provided specially for the 
purpose. 

All night they worked — diligently carry- 
ing out the plan as arranged beforehand. 
In order to utilize space, the card-board 
centers, upon which the ribbons were 
wound, were patiently removed, and the 
costly material with the closed-folded 
lace, was packed away in g'ood order in 
those commodious bags. At last they 
were filled — six of them, and safely trans- 
ported up stairs and over into the conven- 
ient empty store on the side street. 

After another brief wait, one of the men 
started out to release the faithful outside 
man from his post on Broadway, and then 
to notify the hackman, waiting on a 
stand on an adjoining street, that the stuff 
was ready for removal. At the corner of 
Crosby street he met the silent partner in 
the affair — the big, expectant policeman — 
and re-assured him with a few words as he 



i82 TOM FOGAETY 

passed on. In a short space of time he 
found the hackman, and getting on the 
box, or driver's seat beside him, they 
drove quietly down the street towards 
their goal, passing a precinct police sta- 
tion on their way. The driver proved to 
be a new man, very nervous and "leary," 
but yet apparently eager to make the ex- 
tra money that was to be gained by the 
hazardous job. 

It was nearly morning, but still dark, 
when they drove up to the loading place, 
and our acquaintance jumped down to 
give a hand in carrying out the plunder. 
Just then two men, talking rather loudly, 
came around the corner from Broadway, 
and stood chatting together. This was 
too much for the Jehu; he became alarmed 
and, whipping up his horse, he drove 
away, followed, in a moment, by the half- 
drunken couple who had frightened him. 

It would be a very difficult matter, in- 
deed, to depict the disgust and anger that 
filled the breasts of the men left waiting 
there. It would have fared very ill with 
the driver could they have laid hands on 
him during the next few minutes. After a 
short consultation another start was made 
to hunt up the driver and, if possible, 
bring him back, or, at least, bring the 
rig. 

_ The search was successful, and by 
threats, by promises and persuasion the 
driver was induced to once more make the 
attempt. He drove up and halted at the 



TOM FOGARTY 183 

fight spot. One of the men, feeling that 
after all they were going to reap a re- 
ward for their night's work, shouldered 
a bag and started briskly across the plank 
that was the pathway from the store to 
the pavement of the street, but was com- 
pletely set back on seeing the hack move 
swiftly away once more. 

What was the matter? Nothing much; 
that is, nothing to hinder the carrying 
away of the load of bags if the driver had 
been an adept at the business, instead of a 
novice. A belated newspaper man — a re- 
porter, I think — had wandered up the 
street and, full of curiosity, had stopped 
across the way to see what was going on. 
When the hack drove away, it revealed, to 
the onlooker, an utterly disgusted man 
standing disconsolate on the pavement 
with a six-foot bag, like an immense saus- 
age, on his shoulder. The reporter needed 
no explanation; he thoroughly under- 
stood the situation, and without loss of 
time he started off rapidly towards the 
near-by police station. 

Out from the shadow of a doorway steps 
the broken-hearted policeman, his mouth 
full of curses that are inadequate to ex- 
press the bitter disappointment he feels. 

"Git; git out of here," he cries, with an 
oath. "Break away! That bloke has 
gone to the station, and I'll have to head 
him off. What a murderin,, beastly 
shame." 

The saloon across the way affords a con- 



i8 4 TOM FO&ARTY 

venient and safe refuge, and hardly has its 
cover been gained when the whole neigh- 
borhood is aronsed by the noisy alarm of 
the vigilant policeman. He courageously 
follows an imaginary gang of crooks into 
the vacant building, chasing them into the 
rear yard, exchanging shots with them 
and compelling them to drop all their 
plunder. For all of which he is duly com- 
mended in the newspapers and by the cap- 
tain of his precinct. And yet all their 
praise availed nothing against the bitter- 
ness and chagrin he felt at being robbed 
of what he always considered to be his 
legitimate share of that night's fiasco. 

Although New York offered excel- 
lent inducements, at that time, to 
men of my peculiar vocation, yet I 
could not long rest contented there. I had 
rather pleasant memories of a former trip 
to the west. My face, also, was becoming 
familiar to certain persons whose business 
it was to enquire into the daily life of such 
as I, but whose acquaintance I had no 
desire to form. If they were honest and 
did their duty, the result would be, in all 
probability, another trip, on my part, to 
Sing Sing. If they were otherwise dis- 
posed — willing to wink at certain irregu- 
larities — such indulgence on their part 
meant the giving up of a considerable per- 
centage of my income; and that was ever 
a sore subject with me. 



CHAPTER XVII, 




WESTWARD ONCE MORE. 

HE loss of my partner, 
English Jimmy, made 
me more than ever dis- 
satisfied with the city. 
Certain friends of ours, 
who were what we 
styled "gopher-men" — 
that is, their specialty 
w T as forcing safes — had 
persuaded him to join 
them in a journey up the state, stop- 
ping at various small towns on the 
way. The venture proved disastrous; 
Jimmy was laid by the heels in a 
little country jail, and, in spite of earn- 
est effort on the part of his friends to se- 
cure his release on bail, the authorities 
seemed determined to make an example of 
him. 

Joe McCarty and I both worked hard 
and took desperate chances at this time to 
raise money to obtain, if possible, Jimmy's 
release. Looking back calmly and dispas- 
sionately on my conduct I have concluded 
that it was no genuine feeling of loyalty 
to my comrade that induced me to stick 
to him as I did for a time, but on the con- 
trary, I was moved by the selfish feeling 
that Jimmy was necessary to me. He was 
clever, good-tempered and, what was of 
prime importance, he was the possessor of 



i86 TOM FOOARTY 

a splendid physical courage that had car- 
ried us safely through many an emer- 
gency. These good qualities, however, did 
not hinder me from leaving him in the 
lurch, without compunction when I be- 
lieved it to be to my interest to do so. 

About this time our attention was di- 
rected to what promised to be an easy 
opportunity for securing a considerable 
sum of money and a right royal collection 
of "stones." Joe and I by turns examined 
the place and pronounced it "a gift." The 
only objection being that three others 
were to have a full share in the proceeds 
without aiding, in any manner, beyond 
"putting up the job." Finding that "no 
division" would mean "no work," we con- 
sented. For reasons that are obvious, 
the details must be omitted. The job was 
carried out and resulted in quite a rich 
haul. After a few days the parties inter- 
ested met, and a division was made of the 
money. The diamonds, with the excep- 
tion of a few small ones of little value 
which were taken by some for personal 
use, were set aside until a good market 
could be found for them. 

In a little while it developed that one of 
the participants was dissatisfied with the 
outcome This, joined to the fact that the 
police were making unusual efforts to dis- 
cover and arrest the perpetrators of the 
robbery, caused me a great deal of uneasi- 
ness. I determined that I would slip 
quietly away from the city as soon as I 



TOM FOG ARTY 187 

received my "bit" from the sale of the 
stones. Several "fences" were interviewed, 
but their offers were so disgracefully out 
of proportion to the real worth of the 
stones, that, although we were very eager 
to realize on them, we were compelled to 
forego the sale. 

One night the man who had been doing 
the reported grumbling, came to our 
rooms and suggested that we call on a 
certain up-town pawn-broker, as he would 
be very likely to pay a fair price for our 
goods. He guaranteed the safety of the 
venture and claimed to have had profitable 
dealings with him in the past. According- 
ly, I called on the broker the following 
morning, gave him a description of the 
property for sale and, at his request, 
agreed to bring them for his inspection 
that evening. Coming away from the in- 
terview with him, I noticed something 
that made me feel a little "leary" about 
the whole transaction. But I was so 
anxious to dispose of the stuff, that I 
quieted my fears by calling to mind the 
many other occasions when I had been 
fearful and suspicions without cause. Af- 
ter a consultation with Joe, the stones 
were counted out and turned over to me 
with the understanding that I should do 
the very best that was possible with them 
in the matter of price. We parted, with 
the expectation of meeting late that night 
at an appointed place. We have never 
met since that moment. 



188 TOM FOOARTY 

The j pawn-broker received me very 
pleasantly when I called in the evening. 
After some refreshments, I produced the 
stones, and he gave them a close, critical 
examination, and weighed them and esti- 
mated their value. He set a rather low 
price on them, but it was better than any 
offer we had previously received, so I 
agreed to his terms, and drew a breath of 
relief to think the job was concluded at 
last. I was grievously disappointed, how- 
ever, by his further action. No sooner did 
I accept his proposition than he began to 
depreciate the quality of the stones. Pick- 
ing them over, he dilated on the probabil- 
ity of his getting into trouble over the 
bargain. Finally he very coolly an- 
nounced that he was not prepared to pay 
cash for them that evening, and that it 
would be necessary for me to call again 
at some future time the next day, if con- 
venient. If I so desired he would take 
care of the property in the interval. 

"Well, after taking care of them so far, 
I rather think I'll take whatever risk there 
is, and hold the stones till I get the stuff 
for 'em," said I, determinedly, seeing the 
possibilities of a fight ahead. 

But he quietly handed over the little 
wool-lined box. I counted over the gems, 
and finding the number correct, left the 
house, after a parting promise that I 
would, very likely, call on him the follow- 
ing day. 

I walked away very dejected, absorbed 



TOM FOGARTY 



189 




190 TOM F0OABTY 

in the thought of what would be the final 
result. Before I had gone very far the 
training of my life asserted itself. I knew 
I was being followed. I turned into a 
near-by saloon, ordered a drink, and after 
drinking a small portion of the glassful I 
placed it on the bar and sauntered over to 
a cigar lighter near the door, and lit a 
cigar. Instead of returning to the bar, I 
slipped quickly out through the front 
door and passed a hook-nosed gentleman 
who was making a rapid but futile effort 
to efface himself. He was a stranger to 
me, but I knew that for the time being he 
was very much interested in my doings. 

With the many multiplied methods of 
rapid transit that are open to the public 
today, the facilities for ridding one's self 
of a spy are manifold greater than they 
were at the time whereof I write. Yet I 
managed, by doubling like a hare, to drop 
my follower and make my way over to 
Jersey City, where I rested under cover 
until the following evening. 

I went to Philadelphia and disposed of 
the troublesome booty, receiving a great 
deal less for the stones than I had ex- 
pected or hoped for. My acquaintance 
with that city was very limited, and for 
many reasons I concluded to keep myself 
secluded from all recognition during the 
few days of my stay; otherwise I might 
have obtained better terms. As it was, I 
almost fell into a trap, or, at least, it 
seemed such to my expectant mind; but J 



TOM FOGARTY 191 

managed to receive the money and get out 
of the Quaker City without any further 
trouble. I went through to Baltimore, to 
Cincinnati, and as far south as Cairo, 111., 
then up through the state to the busy 
city of Chicago; arriving there a few 
months before the great fire. 

What a city it was in those days! Down 
in its very heart the multiplying business 
blocks were rapidly encroaching on what 
had always been considered the best resi- 
dence property. Where, today, immense 
office buildings and stores stand towering 
skyward, there, then, stood the homes of 
wealth and fashion; and within a few 
minutes' leisurely walk of the vilest dens 
of Clark street, South Wells street and old 
Conley's Patch, were situated dwellings 
that presented rare inducements to men 
of my class and training. 

I enjoyed my stay in the city. There 
were many places for the entertainment 
of the vicious, disreputable and law-defy- 
ing element that congregates in all large 
cities. It is the custom — grown into a 
chronic complaint — to speak of the fla- 
grant vice and shame of the young giant 
metropolis of the west: and it undoubted- 
ly deserves all and, perhaps, more censure 
than has been bestowed upon it for the 
existence of certain evils that might easi- 
ly be abated, were the existing laws but 
thoroughly and impartially executed. But 
to one who participated in, or who re- 
members, the rampant crime and wide- 






iga TOM FOGARTY 

open iniquity, the noisy yet dangerous 
dens in the form of "free-and-easy's" that 
abounded and nourished, 'shoulder to 
-shoulder with the busiest and most re- 
spectable marts of trade, and the many 
other nameless evidences of evil that 
flaunted themselves shamelessly by day as 
well as by night, without any attempt at 
concealment, the condition of Chicago to- 
day, far short though it be from perfec- 
tion, is a glorious and praiseworthy im- 
provement on the old town that was so 
mercilessly swept out of sight by the fire 
of October, 1871. 

I left Chicago in the early part of the 
week before the fire, and spent the winter 
in the south; a part of the time I was en- 
gaged in breaking rock on the stone pile 
for the city of Louisville, Ky. I visited 
various cities, but found no rest. 

For a short period I tried to earn my 
living by honest, hard work. I found em- 
ployment in a blast furnace at Frankfort, 
Mich., and for a few months rather en- 
joyed the novelty of going to bed at regu- 
lar hours, and not having to dread the ap- 
proach of every stranger. But the evil 
nature within me, and the habits I had so 
carefully cultivated, soon made the sober, 
steady, humdrum life I was leading very 
irksome to me, and I drifted, or rather, I 
eagerly went back to the old vicious life 
with its excitements, follies and heart- 
breaking penalties. Of course, I paid the 
penalty. I never, for one moment, ex« 



TOM FOGARTY 193 

pected otherwise. Whatever convictions 
or beliefs other men of my stripe may have 
held or entertained, I can truthfully aver 
that my experience had taught me to 
know, beyond all cavil or doubt, that 
"whatsoever a man soweth that shall he 
also reap." 

On the 14th of October, 1874, I was sen- 
tenced to Joliet for the term of four years. 
There^ were three indictments for burg- 
lary against me; I was sentenced on one, 
and the other two were held over, that is: 
judgment was suspended for future execu- 
tion in case of further violation of law on 
my part. 

I was arrested in August, and laid in 
what was then termed the new jail, on the 
North Side, while waiting for trial. There 
were, as usual, quite a large number of 
desperate characters confined in the cells. 
Among" others, Mike Jones, sentenced for 
ten years, for complicity in the "Star 
Line" robberies of freight trains that 
caused so great a sensation at that time, 
and his partners, with several more who 
had earned considerable notoriety by their 
misdeeds. Like myself, they were willing 
to take desperate chances to avoid spend- 
ing years inside Joliet, so they were using 
all their cunning and ingenuity trying to 
devise some means of escape. 

The result of all their planning was 
that one prisoner should manage to get 
out of his cell and lay out, with a blow, 
the night guard, secure his keys and liber- 



194 TOM FOGARTY 

ate a certain select few who were in the 
scheme, then make our way to the roof 
and so out to liberty. A* fine plan, in 
theory, but almost suicidal in execution. 

I had a partner with me, in my cell, with 
whom I had traveled for about two years. 
He was ready to take almost any step 
that offered a chance for freedom, so, 
when I was selected to be the one to "bell 
the cat," or, in other words, to overpower 
the night guard, he offered no objections, 
although he knew that if we were discov- 
ered, even in the attempt to get out of 
the cell, we would surely get the full pen^ 
alty of the law on the three charges. 

A splendid ratchet brace and set of bits 
were brought in, and passed to us, and for 
probably two weeks we worked on the 
back-plate of the lock, until there was a 
hole sufficiently large to allow the inser- 
tion of our fingers for the- purpose of 
throwing back the bolt of the lock. Each 
day we plastered up the evidence of our 
work with moistened bread crumbs, care- 
fully blackened, to deceive any but the 
closest scrutiny and, as I write, I can re^ 
member the peculiar, reckless feeling that 
possessed me as I saw the job daily near- 
ing completion. 

I did not relish the part assigned me. I 
am slight of build and, while I was rather 
noted for a disposition to fight on very 
slight provocation, still, in such encoun- 
ters I always felt that there was, at least, 
an equal chance of my coming out ahead, 



TOM FOGARTY 195 

and failure only meant physical punish- 
ment. But this was an altogether differ- 
ent affair. We had gotten so far along, 
that I saw it was only a question of days 
when I would be able to slip out into the 
hall at any moment that I might choose. 
Then, if instead of surprising the guard, 
he should surprise me? I was not in dread 
of the violent death that probably would 
result, but I confess that I laid awake 
many an hour and shook with an ague of 
fear at the thought of the long, long, 
weary years of prison life that loomed 
dismally before me if I was unsuccessful. 
I had lost my nerve, and felt that I would 
fail, yet, with foolish bravado I determined 
to go through with it at any cost. 

With all reverence I can truthfully say 
that I believe God, in His mercy, inter- 
posed to prevent the execution of our ill- 
advised, murderous plan. Unexpectedly, 
one day, I, in company with my cell-mate, 
Patrick O'Reilly, was rushed up-stairs to 
the court room. Our mouth-piece — or 
lawyer — advised a plea of guilty to one in- 
dictment, with the promise of suspension 
in the case of the other two. We hardly 
had time for consultation — in fact, we 
needed none. When the charge was read, 
we pleaded guilty, and were soon escorted 
down stairs, under sentence of four years 
each to hard labor. 

Mr. Folz, who was jailor at that period, 
builded better than he knew when, for 
some reason of his own, he locked us up as 






196 TOM FOGARTY 

condemned men in a different cell from 
that which we had previously occupied. 
Why have T mentioned this episode? In 
order that I might publicly acknowledge 
my belief in God's compassion and love 
for me, even while I was lifting* my pnny 
arm in disobedient warfare against Him. 
Truly, man proposes, but God disposes. 




CHAPTER XVIII. 

PRISON LIFE IN JOLIET. 

c 7 N a few days I, in 

ride, I was en- 
tered on the records of Joliet peniten- 
tiary as John Smith, No. 8,500, with four 
years of servitude before me, less a pos- 
sible commutation of ten months for good 
conduct. I was, indeed, serving a harsh 
task-master. 

I had but one settled purpose in my 
mind. I was determined to do all in my 
power to earn the ten months of "good 
time," as we'termed it, by keeping strictly 
within the rules of the prison. This de- 
termination I carried out to the letter. 
From the moment that I was critically 
examined and searched by Frank Murray, 
the guard appointed to perform that act 
on all new arrivals, until the hour when 
the same officer fitted me out with a citi- 
zen's suit in exchange for the stripes, I 
managed to avoid even a reprimand from 
those who had me in charge, whether in 
workshops or in cell. 



sc,8 TOM POQARTY 

Of coiurse, my previous expjerience ill 
other prisons, and the training of my life 
helped me to escape many a pitfall that 
proved dangerous to others, less experi- 
enced. 

I was merely an old soldier, re-enlisted. 
I could look with complacency on the mis- 
takes of the new recruits, in the awk- 
ward squad, remembering the fact that 
many, many years had passed since I first 
learned what was expected of me. I knew 
the absolute futility of any attempt on 
the part of a prisoner to defy the authori- 
ties or disobey the rules and regulations 
of the prison. I had known, in other pris- 
ons, men of greater will power than 1 
possessed and far excelling me in physical 
strength, who had attempted the impos- 
sible. They had set out to have their 
own way, and a miserable, wretched, 
heart breaking way it proved to be. I had 
seen those same strong men so reduced by 
the physical punishment and close con- 
finement their misconduct entailed, that 
in the end their boasted strength was 
changed into the weakness of a little child 
some of them being ruined mentally as 
well as physically. Knowing this, I was 
very careful not to run my head against a 
stone wall. I was a model prisoner. 

During the whole of my eventful life, I 
have been passionately fond of music. 
Many an otherwise weary hour in my 
cell has been made less irksome because 
of the interest I felt in the study 01 



TOM FOGARTY 199 

muic whenever T could obtain books on 
that subject. The slight knowledge thus 
gained proved advantageous to me in my 
new place of abode. Through the good 
offices of another prisoner, who knew me, 
I was taken as a member of the prison 
choir on the first Sunday after my admis- 
sion. This in my eyes at least, was a 
very great privilege. We were taken out 
of our cells at night, once and occasion- 
ally twice each week, to practice singing 
for about two hours. Oh, what a boon 
that was! No one can properly appreci- 
ate the value of such a respite from the 
hideous cell life unless he has personally 
experienced the confinement and also the 
few happy hours of release. I know that 
the thought of the choir practice at 
night helped me to bear the burden of 
prison life many a day, when my heart 
and spirit failed me as I thought of the 
long years before me. 

Just at this point I wish to testify to 
the unfailing patience and kindness of Mr. 
Wheat, the gentleman who, in addition to 
his duties as usher, had charge of the 
choir, and also to the gentleness and 
sweetness of his wife, who acted as organ- 
ist and tutor of the choir. They have 
probably long since given place to others, 
but the memory of their sympathetic 
goodness is, doubtless, still retained by 
many whose hard lot was brightened by 
their kindly words. 

Maj. McClaughry, who had lately been 



2oo TOM FOGABTY 

appointed warden, had just commenced 
the work of reform and improvement 
that has resulted in making this prison 
one of the best in the land, both for the 
prisoner and for the state. Of course, at 
that time the contract system was in full 
vogue, the prisoners being leased out to 
various contractors for a stated sum per 
clay, as in Sing Sing and many other penal 
institutions, the state supplying the neces- 
sary food, clothing, shelter, workshops 
and guards for the convicts. On the morn- 
ing after our arrival, we were examined 
by foremen from the different shops, who 
chose those that suited them, and the re- 
mainder were left to be employed by the 
state. I was set to work in a shop for a 
contractor. My task was shading cigars, 
that is, from a miscellaneous heap of 
many colors and tints ranging from dark- 
est "Madura" to lightest "Claro," I 
picked those that were nearest alike, and 
by continuous selection, contrived to fill 
each box with cigars of a uniform shade. 
The work was light, requiring only quick- 
ness of eye and hand. T was there with 
the intention of doing my best and, as a 
matter of course, I satisfied my foreman 
by my work, while the guard found no 
cause for complaint in my conduct. 

During the first few months I suffered 
from a condition of affairs that made my 
life almost unendurable. The cell that I 
occupied at night was shared with another 
convict, a one-armed man named Scott. 



TOM FOGARTT 



201 




202 Tom Fogarty 

He was an elderly man, sent up, I believe, 
from Vermillion county, for horse-steal- 
ing. He appeared to have a mania for 
this particular crime, as I think he was 
serving his third or fourth term for a 
similar otfense. Judging by his own con- 
fidential statement to me, he was in the 
habit, whenever he was discharged from 
prison, of returning to his old haunts, 
where he would pick up a horse, with the 
usual result of a few months waiting for 
trial in the county jail, ending in a re- 
turn to the penitentiary. 

Prison cells are not made for comfort. 
They are, at best, close and uncomfort- 
able for one person, but their disagree- 
able points are intensified to an enormous 
degree when, within their narrow limits, 
two or more are forced to pass more than 
one-half of each twenty-four hours. This 
is true, even when it happens that the cell- 
mates are congenial in tastes and habits — 
how much more so when, as frequently 
happens, the very manners, thoughts and 
general make-up of the men, thus thrown 
together, are antagonistic. This was our 
unfortunate position. I say "our," for I 
feel sure that poor Scott found my com- 
panionship as much of a burden as his 
presence was to me. 

Poor old man! His failing eyesight pre- 
vented him from reading, except at short 
intervals, even had his inclination led in 
that direction, which it did not. He had 
lost an arm, and the stump caused him 



TOM FOGARTY 203 

intense pain during certain phases of the 
weather, and, as was natural, he would 
chatter to me about his ailments and 
about the many little things that would 
occur to annoy him in the course of the 
day, expecting my sympathy. But I, 
while in prison, was of studious habits — 
an omniverous reader — and, although at 
first I tried to respond to his remarks, I 
soon grew tired of his continual piping. 
Just at the moment when I would be ab- 
sorbed in the work of some well-known 
author, dead, for the time being, to my 
miserable surroundings, I would be rude- 
ly recalled by the querulous whimperings 
of my broken-down old cell-mate. In a 
short time I resented his interruptions, 
telling him that I found no pleasure in his 
complainings. This, however, only added 
to the intolerable flow of chatter with 
which he deluged me. The whole training 
of my life forbade, on my part, any com- 
plaint to the authorities, and I dare not 
attempt to contemplate what might have 
resulted if we had not been, very provi- 
dentially, separated. On several occa- 
sions he g'oaded me, by his nagging, to 
such a frenzy of passion, that I was com- 
pelled to seek the refuge of my cot in or- 
der to keep from doing him bodily harm. 
Oh, God! How sincerely glad am I that 
those days have passed away, forever, — 
forever! 

One day, while busily at work shading 
cigars, I saw, out of the tail of my eye, 



2o 4 TOM FOGARTY 

Capt. Hall, the deputy warden, passing 
through the shop, apparently on a tour of 
inspection. He talked for awhile with 
the guard in charge, and then came slow- 
ly up the aisle to the bench where 1 
stood working. 

"Can you keep books? D'you ever do 
any book-keeping?" he asked, abruptly. 

"Yes, sir — "This was a lie, but I spoke 
it without hesitation. 

"Where?" was his next sententious 
question. 

"Oh, in different places and for differ- 
ent manufacturing firms," I replied. 

"Come with me," said he, making a sign 
to the guard, and off we went. 

As we crossed the prison yard together, 
he told me I was going to work for the 
Ohio Butt Co., as their book keeper, and 
that if I was competent and attended to 
my duties, I would find the place a vast 
improvement over my position in the cigar 
shop. I assured him that I would do my 
best to merit the good fortune that had 
come to me, and even while I spoke, the 
uppermost thought with me was that this 
meant final separation from old Scott, my 
cell-mate, and his perpetual talk. 

We soon arrived at the office of the 
Butt Co., and I was presented to the no- 
tice of C. F. Swan, president of the com- 
pany, which was composed of himself and 

his two nephews, Frank and Andrews 

Swan, sons of Judge Swan, of Ohio. 

The old gentleman spoke to me in a 



TOM FOGARTY 205 

very kindly manner. He appeared pre- 
possessed in my favor. After Capt. Hall 
had left us, he began to explain the work 
that was expected of me. He seemed to 
take it for granted that I was an expert 
book-keeper, and I did my best to carry 
ont the impression. I begged his indul- 
gence for a few days, until I became ac- 
customed to the novelty of my new sur- 
roundings, and he re-assured me, telling 
me that I need not be afraid if I did my 
best. 

The following day I became acquainted 
with the other members of the firm. A 
sympathetic remark on the part of one of 
them as to my appearance, led to a plain 
statement on my side that I was, in truth, 
'not an accidental prisoner, serving a 
first term, and deserving of pity, but an 
old offender who had deservedly known 
the inside of many prisons. I was always 
opposed to sailing under false colors when 
there was nothing to be gained thereby, 
and in this case T knew that it was only 
a question of time when some prisoner, 
working on the contract, who had known 
me elsewhere, would mention the fact, and 
it would come to the ears of my employ- 
ers. My confession never appeared to 
stand in my way in winning the good will 
and confidence of the firm. During the 
remaining years of my imprisonment, I 
was in their employ, and when my term 
expired, they gave me ample evidence that 
they were satisfied with my work. 



206 TOM FOQARTY 

• Although I had never had a previous 
opportunity to learn book-keeping by 
double entry, yet I managed to hide that 
fact, and succeeded, by dint of earnest 
effort, in getting out my first monthly 
trial balance without an error. I sorely 
wanted to hold the position, and worked 
and studied day and night to accomplish 
my aim. The results fully repaid me for 
all my efforts. 

As a rule, the men employed on the con- 
tract v^orked at piece work, doing a cer- 
tain task each day. For all overwork, 
that is, work beyond their daily task, they 
were allowed credit at the rate paid to the 
prison authorities for their services, the 
money being placed to their account, eacn 
month, in the warden's office, while a 
daily and monthly bulletin was posted in 
the shops for the inspection of the men. 
It was a part of my duties to. watch, each 
day, the weighing and counting of the 
work of the men and, after deducting the 
regular amount for their task, I would 
enter up the various sums for overwork. 
I had quite a number of acquaintances in 
the shops — my own partner, O'Keilly, 
among others, working in the foundry — 
but I can truthfully say that I did the 
square thing, both by contractor and fel- 
low-convict, without fear or favor. This I 
did, not because it was the right thing to 
do, but from motives of selfish considera- 
tion. I wanted to make my "good time" 
allowance, and was too "wise" to jeopard- 



TOM FOQARTY 207 

ize it by crooked work that, in the long 
run, was sure to be discovered, either by 
the shrewdness of guards or foremen, or 
through the inevitable treachery of the 
beneficiaries. Experience had taught me 
that in such an instance as this, honesty 
was, indeed, the best, in fact, the only 
policy worth following. 

Among the men employed by the Ohio 
Butt Co., were quite a number who were 
notorious because of their skill or the 
enormity of their evil deeds. Ben Boyd, 
the expert engraver; gentlemanly Jim 
Rittenhouse, the printer and partner of 
Pete Macartney, and Old Driggs, the cap- 
italist, and .prime mover in this particular 
band of "coniaekers," or counterfeiters, 
worked every day and were compelled to 
do their task, despite the well known fact 
that Driggs had thousands of dollars to 
invest, if money could have changed their 
position or purchased them immunity 
from labor. Side by side with them were 
men who were serving long terms for 
their connection with the celebrated 
Crain and Bulliner factional feuds that so 
long disturbed certain counties in South- 
ern Illinois, and caused the death of so 
many members of both warring factions. 

I served my sentence, and succeeded in 
securing the full allowance of ten months 
for good conduct. Was I benefitted by 
my incarceration? Yes, I was, physically. 
The regular hours and the plain, but 
wholesome diet, combined with the forced 



208 TOM FOGARTY 

abstention from alcoholic and other ex- 
cesses, in which I had indulged when at 
liberty, had served to put me in a clean 
sanitary condition. Was I improved mor- 
ally or spiritually? I am compelled to 
answer, No! On the contrary, I had be- 
come, if possible, more case hardened than 
ever. 

Sunday after Sunday, for three years 
and two months I sat in the choir within a 
few feet of the speaker's desk and looked 
down into the shaven faces of that host 
robed, like myself, in the prison garb. 

Famous men stood on that platform, 
and by their wonderful descriptive pow- 
ers and eloquence caused their unhappy 
audience to completely forget their sur- 
roundings. Others came who were noted 
for their self-sacrificing lives; for the re- 
ligion that they lived as well as preached. 
These, by their tender, earnest and, often- 
times, impassioned appeals to the men, 
strangely moved the hearts of many; 
causing stubborn heads to bow while the 
hot tears of remorse, regret and some- 
times even of repentance coursed down 
the crime-furrowed cheek. But, while I 
listened with deep attention and carefully 
noticed the result of speech or sermon 
on my fellow-prisoners, I must confess, 
with shame, that I was never ^personally 
impressed with a sense of my own sins by 
anything that I heard there. I have pon- 
dered deeply over this deplorable fact, but 
can give no valid reason for it, except that 



TOM FOGARTY 209 

I feel sure the failure was on my part — 
the fault was mine. 

Late in the fall of 1877, Mr. Frank Swan, 
in a conversation with me about my fu- 
ture, kindly told me that they — the firm — 
had determined they would do all in their 
power to help me to a new start in life, 
provided that my inclinations were in that 
direction. 

"We have talked this matter over to- 
gether, John," (to him I was John Smith, 
No. 8,500). "We have talked this over, and 
we believe there is too much in you, there 
is in you the making of too good a man to 
go on the rest of your life in this horrible 
way." He spoke very earnestly and with 
deep feeling. His words were impressed 
on my memory. 

"Now, if you really want to give up the 
old life," he looked very critically at me 
as he continued, "and I'm sure I should 
think you would, we will give you an op- 
portunity to redeem yourself — to make a 
man of yourself in spite of the past. What 
do you say, John?" 

I assured him that I was sick and tired 
of my former manner of life, and in- 
tended to live honestly if T found it pos- 
sible for me to do so. I meant every word 
that I said. The fruits of my life of 
crime and sin had long since turned to 
bitter ashes in my mouth. The matter 
was the subject of conversation for a 
number of dnys after this, and in the end 
resulted in my being engaged to work for 



2io TOM FOG ARTY 

the firm as traveling salesman when my 
term of imprisonment should have ex- 
pired. 

On the 14th day of December, 1877, I was 
called into the warden's office, and No. 
8,500 passed out of existence. I and my 
comrade, O'Reilly, were discharged and 
stood, once more, at liberty to go whither 
soever we chose. Through the kind in- 
strumentality of Frank Swan, work had 
been secured for my partner in the foun- 
dry of Jas. L. Haven, of Cincinnati, O. 
After a few words together, we parted, I, 
going back to my work with the Butt Co., 
while he went forth to his new position. I 
have no knowledge of his afterlife. 

Some days previous to this, I had been 
carefully measured, consequently I found 
myself provided with a well-fitting, re- 
spectable suit of citizens' clothing. Ar- 
rangements had been made with the au- 
thorities whereby I was to go in and out 
of the prison on the same footing as the 
other foremen and employes of the differ- 
ent contractors. And, as a matter of 
justice to all concerned, I wish to say that 
the treatment accorded me was, in every 
particular, impartial, considerate and 
kindly. 

Excellent accommodation was provided 
for me at a hotel in Joliet, where my 
"previous condition of servitude" was 
either unknown or ignored, and I took up 
the new life with a zest and keen enjoy- 
ment that only those who have passed 



TOM FOGARTY 



211 



through a like experience can properly 
appreciate. 

For nearly two weeks I went, each day, 
to the office, resuming- my place at the 
desk, working arduously and enthusias- 
tically taking the yearly invoice or in- 
ventory of stock, etc., making up and bal- 
ancing the yearly accounts. I enjoyed it, 
and had great hopes of a future that 
should make amends for the misery of the 
past. 










CHAPTER XIX. 

GOOD-BYE TO JOLIET. 

HEN the day came for 
me to start on the 
road. I was familiar 
b y correspondence, 
with all their custom- 
ers; knew the peculiar- 
ities and standing of 
each, and the general 
line of their trade. 
The manufacture of barbed wire for 
fencing, (then in its infancy), had been 
taken up the Butt Co., and great things 
were expected from its introduction 
among those who bought the various man- 
ufactured products of the firm. 

The salary paid me was a very generous 
one, more than sufficient for all my needs. 
I was furnished with a railway ticket and 
an ample supply of money for expenses, 
and with a hearty hand-shake and earn- 
est good wishes, I went forth to conquer 
a new world. To win, by good conduct and 
right living, a place among my fellow-men. 
I stopped at a few small towns on my 
way southward, down the state, making 
special efforts to interest the hardware 
dealers in the possibilities of barbed-wire. 
The success I met was encouraging, and 
each day opened up a new vista of future 
happiness. I thoroughly enjoyed the work. 



TOM FOG ARTY 213 

By the end of the week I reached 
Bloomington. We had, during the previ- 
ous summer, some business complications 
at this place with the agents of "The 
Grange." I was fortunately able to 
straighten this matter up to the mutual 
satisfaction 01 both parties interested. I 
was also successful in securing good or- 
ders from Harwood Bros., old customers 
of the Butt Co., and I returned to my 
hotel feeling highly elated. I sat down 
and wrote a detailed account to the firm, 
and mapped out my future course — the 
towns and concerns I intended visiting, 
etc. — subject, of course, to their orders. 
Then I leisurely strolled into the hall, 
where I met a young traveling salesman 
or "drummer," whose acquaintance I had 
formed coming in on the train. After a 
few words as to our mutual success dur- 
ing the day, at his solicitation we went for 
a short walk together, finally visiting a 
place of amusement — a fourth-rate var- 
iety show — that satisfied neither of us. 
Leaving there, we entered a billiard hall. 

I always enjoyed the game, and, on en- 
tering, the peculiar musical click of the 
balls, combined with the general atmos- 
phere and tone of the place, awakened 
within me the slumbering desire for the 
excitements of the old life. When asked 
by my companion I readily consented to 
play ONE game. 

Of course, we played more than one. 
Other players at near-by tables were 



214 TOM FOG ARTY 

drinking occasionally. What more natur- 
al than that we should drink, also. The 
inevitable result was, on my part, a com^ 
plete relapse into my natural condition* 
My inclinations were evil, and it required 
very little temptation to upset all my 
good resolutions. 

The following week found me in St. 
Louis; once more back in the ranks where 
I belonged. An Ishmaelite, with no hope 
or expectation of ever being anything 
else. 

I stayed in the immediate vicinity of St. 
Louis during the following year, making 
occasional trips out of town when my 
finances were low, but always returning 
as soon as my purse was in a good condi- 
tion. I found congenial society, and 
strove to enjoy myself, but must confess 
I failed. One thought was with me con- 
tinually, at that period, intruding even 
when I was surrounded by the gayest or 
most reckless companions. I felt that 
the opportunity of my life had come and 
gone, and I had been too weak and un- 
stable to seize and hold it. Almost un- 
wittingly I would find myself murmuring: 

"There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune/' 

Sometimes a chance view of my own 

flushed face, reflected in a mirror as I 

stood drinking at a bar, would serve to 

emphasize the ever-present thought, and 

I would mentally wander off into a maze 

of "might have beens," until the jeering 



Tom pogarty 215 

remarks of my companions would recall 
me, Waking, after a night of sinful folly, 
the same thought would give an added 
sting to the plrysical sufferings that were 
the natural penalty for the dissipation in 
which I was indulging. 

And yet, in my most serious moments, 
when I most bitterly regretted my fail- 
ure, I knew, in my inmost heart, that if 
the same or an equal opportunity was 
presented to me, the result must sooner 
or later be the same. A leopard cannot 
change its spots of its own volition. 
From childhood, I had carefully cultivated 
certain habits and desires. They had 
grown with my growth in sin. I had so 
wound them about me and intertwined 
them with my mode of life, that they had 
become my nature, my very life, in fact. 
I acknowledged my Master, and tried to. 
make the best of a bad bargain. Never- 
theless, for a season the chains of my ser- 
vitude were very galling and extremely 
heavy. The passing months eventually 
brought comparative forgetfulness, and I 
went on down the hill. 

In mid-winter of that year, 1878, I went 
down to Memphis. The city had been de- 
populated the previous summer by the 
ravages of yellow fever. I hoped to be 
able to make some money, but found con- 
ditions there so horrible and distressing, 
that I hastily pushed on to Little Rock. 
The legislature was in session, and the lit- 
tle capital was very gay and full of ex- 



216 TOM FOGABTY 

citement. Of course, I found men of my 
class there, and had no difficulty in fra- 
ternizing with them. I traveled about a 
little, visiting, among other places, the 
town of Hot Springs. 

It was a perfect hot-bed of evil. Every 
conceivable vice unblushingly forced itself 
upon the public view, and I found it a 
very profitable field for my evil work. My 
harvest, however, was quickly brought to 
a very sudden close by an incident, the 
fortunate outcome of which I can only 
explain by believing that our God inter- 
posed to save my then worthless life that 
He might use me, finally, as a monumental 
witness of His love and grace. 

I had struck up an acquaintance with 
an eastern man who had been at the 
Springs long enough to thoroughly know 
the lay of the land. We went to work to- 
gether. The town itself at that time con- 
sisted of one long, rambling street that- 
followed the natural bend of the hills 
which on both sides hung threateningly 
over it. So abrupt was the ascent of the 
hills, that an active man could step on to 
the hill side from the rear of the second 
story of many of the hotels. 

One night, in company with my new 
chum, I mounted to the veranda on the 
second floor of a leading hotel. We had 
selected a room and, without loss of time, 
forced open the blinds. We were busily 
at work on the window, when the noise of 
a crying baby brought us to a standstill. 



TOM FOGARTY 217 

From our point of vantage, we looked in 
and saw the parents engaged, attending to 
the child. The little one appeared to be 
ailing, the father making evident prepar- 
ations to sit up and watch beside it. See- 
ing this, we turned away in disgust, and 
went on around the veranda, stopping, 
ultimately, at a window near the rear of 
the building. With ver} r little trouble the 
shutter and windoWwere opened, and we 
looked into the lighted bedroom where a 
man lay calmly sleeping almost within 
reach from where we stood. I can see 
the scene, with all its details, once more, 
as I write. 

On a little table near his bedside, stood 
a shaded lamp, and a bottle of medicine 
with an open watch lying beside them. I 
stepped lightly through the window and 
picking up the watch, handed it to my 
pal. One step more, and from the pocket 
of a vest hanging on a chair, I gleefully 
abstracted a comfortable roll of bills. 
Holding them up for the gratification of 
the outside man, I quickly thrust them 
into my pocket and moved further down 
the room in quest of more booty. I paid 
no attention to the sleeper, as I knew that 
my partner would be able to keep him 
quiet by a judicious word, should he, un- 
fortunately, wake up during our visit. 
My. experience had taught me that it re- 
quired very little courage or nerve to in- 
duce a man to lie still; always provided 
that you were looking at him when he 



2i8 TOM FOG ARTY 

awoke. The average man who opens his 
eyes from sound sleep and looks into the 
stern face of a stranger at his bedside, is 
apt, very sensibly, to lie quiet when or- 
dered to do so. Knowing this, I went 
ahead without a thought of fear. 

x\n ejaculation of wonder caused me to 
look around and, to my disagreeable sur- 
prise, the sleeper was awake, sitting up 
in bed, and groping hurriedly under his 
pillow for — my startled heart said "his 
gun." No signs of my pal, but the whole 
building resounded with the roars and 
cries of the awakened man on the bed. 
All this I saw and understood, as Psprang 
for the window. He pluckily made a 
grab at me, but I forced my way past him 
out onto the veranda. His outcries had 
alarmed the house, and as I moved to- 
wards the rear of the building, windows 
and doors were thrown open on all sides. 
Not wishing to be used as a target, I 
placed my hand on the rail, and vaulted 
over into the darkness below, and landed, 
fairly and squarely, on a picket fence. 

The shock was so great that for one 
moment I thought I would faint. I fell 
over sideways, luckily falling up the hill 
away from the house; then, as the lights 
began to flash out below, and I saw par- 
ties coming towards me, I managed to 
drag my poor,. battered body up the hill, 
and with as much speed as possible, I 
orept out of danger. The scars of that 
night's w^rk will go with me to my grave. 



TOM FOGARTY 



219 







230 TOM FOQABTY 

The state penitentiary of Arkansas had 
an exceedingly bad reputation at that 
period among the evil class to which I 
belonged. I was thoroughly familiar with 
its horrors, although I had not personally 
experienced them. As I worked, as si- 
lently and as rapidly as possible, up the 
hillside in my effort to escape the noisy 
swarm of hunters from the hotel, the 
thought of the terrible chain-gang in the 
quarries loomed dark and dreadful before 
me and spurred me on to increased efforts 
to avoid snch a fate. 

At one time, several of the pursuers 
came very near me, moving along with 
their lights much more rapidly than I 
could in the dark. They came just below 
me on the hillside, so near that I stood 
almost within the circle of light from 
theii lanterns, and I planted myself firm- 
ly, thinking the game was up, and fully 
determined never to be taken alive, but 
they hurried by without noticing- me, so 
I quietly sat down with my back to a 
tree and tried to take stock of my injur- 
ies, while I kept a vigilant eye on the 
flickering lights below. 

I had lost my hat in the fall, and my 
clothing had suffered a great deal in my 
contact with the fences and also in my 
blind rush up the hillside in the dark. I 
knew that I was badly torn by the pick- 
ets; I could feel a ragged wound starting 
from a point a short distance above the 
right knee and extending several inches 



TOM FOG ARTY 221 

up the inside of the leg, but, although I 
wished to, I dared not make a light to 
examine it properly. The frayed rem- 
nants of the woolen stockings I had worn 
over my shoes, for quiet work, I tore off 
very quickly, and with the addition of a 
handkerchief I managed to bind. up the 
hurt in such manner as to, at least, stop 
the flow of blood. Then with a little 
more ambition and hope, I crept away 
again. 

One fact was patent to me. I must, if 
possible, get out of Hot Springs, and the 
flitting must be done before morning. For 
one brief moment the man on the bed and 
I.had looked each other squarely in the 
face. As I toiled carefully around the 
side of the hill, his face presented itself 
very vividly to my mind, and I found my- 
self laughing, in spite of the pain, as I 
recalled the mingled look of horror and 
indignation that met my eyes as I 
turned towards him. I felt that my fea- 
tures were probably indelibly imprinted 
on his memory, and that he would surely 
recognize me if we were brought face to 
face. Now the town itself was a complete 
cesspool of sin and vice: but it was far 
too small to offer any chance for hiding 
if the authorities cared to hunt for the 
culprit. And in this case I felt sure they 
^nnld do their duty. There was. at that 
rime, but one train a day, which left every 
morning for Malvern, the junction of the 
Iron Mountain Railroad. Even on ordin- 



222 TOM FOGARTY 

ary occasions, it was customary for detec- 
tives to be present at the depot to scru- 
tinize the arrivals and departures, so I 
dared not attempt to leave by that route, 
as it would be simply delivering myself 
into their hands. But one other alterna- 
tive presented itself; I must walk. I was 
lame and sore, but when I thought of that 
chain-gang I did not hesitate. As rapidly 
as possible, I stepped forward in my ar- 
duous journey of twenty-one dreary miles. 

I was cautious about going near the 
railroad tracks, and kept along the 
mountain side, although the walking there 
was much more difficult. Soon after 
leaving the town, I came to a camp-fire 
where a number of tramps and men out 
of work were stretched out for the night. 
I chummed in with one who was sitting up 
smoking, and after a little talk about 
New York and other cities, he hunted up 
a needle and thread and, with a few deft 
stitches among my fluttering rags, he 
soon made me a little more presentable. 
Of course, I gave him some sort of a yarn 
to account for my condition, and, of 
course, he didn't believe a word that I 
said. 

"I've a good big dollar bill here," said 
I, "that I'd like to swap for any kind of a 
hat." 

"The dollar's mine," said he, as he 
moved off around the circle of sleeping 
and lounging men. 
. In a few minutes he was back with a 



TOM FOGARTY 223 

passably good hat. I didn't ask where he 
got it, but I feel sure that some poor, 
homeless fellow was the loser. I gave him 
the dollar and took the hat, starting once 
more, with a ltitle better spirit, on the 
road. 

As soon as I felt it would be safe to do 
so, I managed to get down to the railroad 
track, the grade of the roadbed being much 
easier to walk upon than the up and down 
climbing of the hills. For the first few 
hours, because of the intense darkness of 
the night, I got along very slowly. Again 
and yet again I nearly fell headlong into 
one or another of the many culverts and 
bridges that dot the line of track. My 
torn and bruised leg caused me a great deal 
of anxiety and pain. As soon as the wel- 
come gleam of daylight permitted, I hunt- 
ed up a water-hole and bathed and exam- 
ined the hurt. While I congratulated my- 
self that it was no worse, yet I felt sadly 
discouraged as I looked at it; for I began 
to fear that I might, after all, break down 
before I reached Malvern. The gloomy 
walls of the prison at Little Rock seemed to 
draw very near at the thought. However, I 
bandaged the wound to the best of my abil- 
ity with my handkerchief, and doggedly 
pushed ahead. 

I took pains to avoid being seen by the 
gangs working on the track during the'day, 
as I had a lively remembrance of a trip 
many years before, up in Canada, which 
had ended disastrously because of informa- 



224 TOM FOGARTY 

tion furnished by a gang* of section men to 
a party who were hunting me, which re- 
sulted in my arrest and imprisonment. 
One such experience was enough to teach 
me a lesson. I profited by it and modestly 
kept out of sight. 

I left the camp-fire between 2 and 3 
o'clock in the morning, I should judge, and 
although I walked as steadily as nry hurt 
would permit, I did not get into Malvern 
until night had fallen. 

I was hungry and exhausted, and suffer- 
ing a great deal of pain, but I knew it 
would be foolhardy to attempt to stay 
there. I managed to get something to 
eat and drink, and I found an accommo- 
dating storekeeper of whom I bought a 
pair of cheap pants and an overcoat. 
Then I slipped quietly down to the water 
tank, on the Iron Mountain track, and 
waited for the next train, going, I cared 
not which way. 

As I sat there on the timbers, half doz- 
ing and shivering a little, for the night 
was cold, I remember I kept turning and 
turning, in my pocket, the roll of bills 
that I had gotten vn my recent raid. I 
was worn out and wretched, and would 
have willingly given up every dollar of 
that ill-gotten roll, and as much more on 
top of it, for one good night's rest in safe- 
ty and quiet. Oh, the misery of it all! I 
was Serving a hard task-master, but, 
praise God, I am no longer the servant of 
sin. 



TOM FOGARTY 225 

In due time a train stopped at the tank, 
and as it pulled out again I jumped 
aboard with a feeling of satisfaction. It 
was a passenger, and I rode the steps of 
the "blind baggage," carefully keeping 
out of sight until we reached Arkadelphia. 
Then, I took a seat in a coach and, after 
paying my fare, I rested my weary body 
till the train stopped at Texarkana. I 
hunted up a quiet, second-rate hotel and 
arranged for a week's stay, then as speed- 
ily as possible I secured possession of a 
room and very «oon knew the comfort of 
a sound night's sleep. 




CHAPTER XX. 

DRIFTING FROM BAD TO WORSE. 

BOUT one week later, 
in company with a new 
"pal," I traveled back 
to Little Rock. My 
partner was a young, 
innocent-looking lad of 
about twenty-one years. 
His parents were respectable New York 
Jews, but lie was the black sheep. I had 
known him slightly before w r e went to 
work together, and I found him to be one 
of the most successful "wires" or pick- 
pockets that I had ever known. He w r as 
small and very boyish in appearance, 
which fact he used to advantage in his 
nefarious work. 

In a saloon at Little Eock, I met my 
late associate. He manifested pleasure on 
seeing me, and almost immediately asked 
for his "bit" of the money I had gone off 
with. Instead of money, I gave him a 
raking down for his stupidity or coward- 
ice — whichever it was — in acting as he 
did that night. Words multiplied between 
us, and the result was we w T ere forcibly 
separated by mutual acquaintances and 
the bar-keeper, just as w 7 e were coming to 
blows. He got nothing from me but 
abuse. 

Early in March, Little Eock got to be 
very "hot" for my friend, Sheeny Jimmy, 



TOM FOGARTY 227 

and myself. We had been "working" the 
trains and depots; also the halls of legis- 
lature, with fairly good pecuniary re- 
sults, Jimmy doing the "grafting," while 
I merely acted as his "stall," or cover, 
which was the only part of such work 
that I could do with any degree of suc- 
cess. For awhile we got along unnoticed, 
then when certain parties began to no- 
tice us and investigate our dairy life, the 
judicious use of a few dollars made things 
all right again. Continued complaints, 
however, were going in to headquarters, 
and the result was we found it advisable 
to seek new pastures. So we started 
back over the Iron Mountain railroad, 
stopping off at Poplar Bluffs and other 
small towns on the road, finally landing 
in St. Louis. 

I learned at once that St. Louis was not 
a good place for me to be in. Former as- 
sociates assured me that I had better 
leave or else keep very quiet, as some of 
the authorities had expressed a keen de- 
sire to see me. I was more than willing 
to act at once on this advice, but Jimmy 
dissuaded me. It was April, and the 
crowded streets in the early, bright 
spring weather offered rich promise of 
booty. So I agreed to stay for a few 
weeks, and, as a preliminary step, I parted 
with a very heavy moustache that I took 
considerable pride in, and with a clean, 
smooth-shaven face, sought and found 
rooms away from my former haunts, 



228 TOM FOGARTY 

The particular offense for which I was 
"wanted" was perpetrated the previous 
summer. I had no hand, part or lot in its 
execution; knew nothing about it until 
some weeks after it occurred, and re- 
ceived no share of the proceeds. Never- 
theless, I knew too much about the pe- 
culiarities and vagaries of law courts to 
attempt to convince those who sought -me 
that I was innocent in the matter. 

The residence of a well-known news- 
paper man was feloniously entered and 
considerable booty carried off — cloth- 
ing, jewelry, plate, etc. I roomed, at that 
time, on Third street, and I have reasons 
for believing the act was committed by a 
couple of acquaintances who occupied 
rooms adjoining mine. Late in the fall 
they left the city very unceremoniously, 
giving to me, before they departed, cer- 
tain things that were too cumbrous to 
take with them. Among other things I 
found a plated salver marked with a pe- 
culiar monogram. It was doubled up, and 
evidently had been prepared for the melt- 
ing pot, but, discovering that it was not 
silver, it had been laid aside. A gambling 
acquaintance of mine was in my room 
when I found this prize, and when I ex- 
pressed my intention of dumping it into 
the river, he begged for it, and I gave it 
to him with the understanding that it 
would be sent out of the city. On my 
return to the city I learned that it had 
fallen into the hands of the police, and my 



TOM FOGARTY %2$ 

personal explanation was desired by them. 
For this reason, I determined to keep un- 
der cover as much as possible while in the 
city, and to make my stay very brief. 

I cautioned Jimmy against letting any 
of our friends know where we roomed. 
In spite of this, he returned to the house, 
one evening, bringing with him two old- 
time acquaintances, father and son. I 
had known them in Joliet, and was not 
very eager to resume association with 
them. They, however, made up their 
minds to be near us, and to this end se- 
cured rooms in the same house. I began 
to make ready for a change of scene, but 
postponed the matter too long. A very 
respectable, harmless-looking gentleman 
dropped in on us one morning and, with 
the aid of some friends of his, escorted 
us to the police station where we were 
booked as suspicious characters. 

I will not weary the reader with a de- 
tailed description of the following days 
spent in the "sweat box" at headquarters. 
We were interviewed by the chief and in- 
spected and questioned by the majority 
of the force. I spent some very disagree- 
able hours in the cell, fully expecting to 
be identified as a man "wanted," but by 
sheer impudence and the skill acquired in 
my evil life, I managed to pass the ordeal 
without being discovered. In the end our 
portraits were taken, to adorn the "gal- 
lery," and we were set free with impera- 
tive orders to leave town AT ONCE. It is, 



$30 TOM FOGABTY 

perhaps, needless to add that we obeyed 
that order to the letter. 

We, that is, Jimmy and I, trav- 
eled eastward as far as Cincinnati. 
There, the fate that was inev- 
itable overtook him. He was arrested 
while on the road out to see a game of 
ball one afternoon, and a lady preferred 
a charge of larceny against him. He was. 
caught in the act, and the evidence was 
overwhelmingly against him, but of 
course I tried my utmost to secure his 
freedom. I retained a sharp lawyer, who 
obtained a continuance for a week. Then 
I went to see the lady who was the prose- 
cuting witness, and tried to induce her to 
let the matter drop. I pleaded his youth 
and the fact that he had been led astray 
by others older than himself; talked of his 
mother's sorrow and shame if her only 
boy should go to prison, but the lady was 
obdurate. She made me understand that 
Jimmy deserved to be punished severely, 
not only because he was a dangerous thief, 
but also because of his impudent, slander- 
ous tongue. I learned later that Jimmy, 
with all his skill, was not shrewd enough 
to bridle his lips. When arrested in the 
street car and charged with picking this 
lady's pocket, he tried to win free by scur- 
rilous abuse and ridicule of the complain- 
ant. He had the satisfaction of making 
the onlookers laugh at her, but she never 
forgave him. She followed the case up 
energetically until she heard him sen- 



TOM FOGARTY 231 

tenced to prison for a short term; then 
she laughed at his expense and I suppose 
her wrath was appeased. 

I went on, alone, to Cleveland. After a 
short stay I visited Pittsburgh, then back 
to Cleveland. So for a while I moved from 
place to place, never finding rest or peace. 
Sometimes plentifully supplied with funds, 
then, again, finding it hard to get enough 
to supply the demands of my vicious 
habits. 

From boyhood I had indulged in the 
pernicious habit of drinking intoxicants. 
While I was yet young I had, to some ex- 
tent, managed to control my desires in 
that direction, mainly because the men 
with whom I worked, and whose conduct 
and daily life were my model, had no use 
for a man who was a slave of drink. They 
drank heavily themselves, but they boast- 
ed, always, that they could drink and let it 
alone, and were bitter and caustic in their 
remarks on other, weaker men. I no- 
ticed, however, as I met some of these 
same strong-willed men in different cities 
as the years went by, that they still exer- 
cised the power to "drink" when they 
wished, while the "let it alone" part was 
apparently held in abeyance. As a rule 
they were as much enslaved as were the 
men they had formerly professed to de- 
spise. 

Looking back, I must confess that I be- 
lieve the years spent by me in various pen- 
itentiaries and prisons acted as a check 



232 TOM FOGARTY 

on this habit, for, as I grew older, I wag 
compelled to admit that if I had ever 
possessed the strength to stop when I 
wished, that day had gone by for me. I 
knew that in my evil manner of life a 
clear head was an absolute essential, not 
only for success, but for comparative 
safety; yet, again and again, I found my- 
self attempting dangerous work in such a 
condition that failure and arrest seemed 
almost inevitable. I had known this for 
some time, yet I was very much surprised 
when an acquaintance spoke to me about 
it. 

I was sitting late one night in a disrep- 
utable "free and easy" saloon on Broad- 
way, Cleveland, drinking and chatting 
with some men who were listening to the 
music and songs. My pockets were fairly 
w T ell supplied, so I was rather liberal in 
ordering drinks for those who sat near 
me. 

Presently, a Canadian, whom I had 
known for years, took his pipe from be- 
tween his teeth, and leaning over towards 
me said, very earnestly: 

"Tom, old man; you're gettin' to be an 
awful lusher. I never see yer straight 
any more." 

1 can't tell you what a shock I felt 
when I heard his words. My heart told 
me the sentence was true; but therein 
was the sting. He was much younger 
than I, and I could remember when he had 
seemed to look up to and admire me and 



T03I FOGAJRTY 233 

my cleverness. Now, what a change. I 
resented his pity. 

"Well, I must say, I don't think you've 
any right to call me down. You're no 
slouch at the game, yourself," was my 
retort. 

"That's all right, Tom, I'll admit I'm 
doin' more of this than is good for me, but 
I can quit, and do quit, whenever I want 
to, but you're at it all the time, lately, 
and it's tellin' on yer. You're not the man 
you was a few years ago. Besides, no- 
body wants to graft with a lush." 

I turned away without saying a word. 
I was afraid to trust myself to speak. I 
knew my man well. If I had expressed 
the bitter thoughts that were surging 
within me, there would have been a fight 
on the instant, and for this I felt in no 
humor. I was completely overcome with 
the thought that my associates looked on 
me as a pitiable, helpless drunkard. I 
walked out into the night air, and went 
home, indulging in some very serious 
thought on the way. I went to bed de- 
termined that on this point I would, at 
once, reform my life. I would show that 
I was still in the ring. 

Ah, me! "The road to hell is paved with 
good resolutions." 

The summer that Garfield was assassin- 
ated, I drifted back to Chicago. I had 
considerable money when I reached the 
city, and for awhile I enjoyed myself. I 
had been away since early October, 1874, 



234 



TOM FOQABTY 



and I had changed considerably in the in- 
terval, so I had great hopes that no one 
would recognize me. To help in this di- 
rection, I kept clear of all the places 
where I had formerly spent my leisure 
time and money and found companionship 
in certain saloons on the west side that 
were patronized almost exclusively by 
laboring men. As a result of this, I man- 
aged to scrape up courage enough to 
cause me to seek and find honest work for 
myself. 





CHAPTER XXI. 

AN Al TEMPT AT REFORMATION. 

MOXG those with whom 
I had become acquaint- 
ed were quite a num- 
ber of gravel roofers. 
One of them formed 
quite a friendship for 
me, and through him, 
when my money gave 
out, I found work with the firm of 
M. W. Powell & Co. I was heartily 
sick of the old life, and had been for years, 
and I went in for the new existence with 
considerable vim and energy. I gave sat- 
isfaction bjr my work to those who were 
over me, except that my excessive drink- 
ing made it impossible for them to rely 
on me. I worked for the firm for about 
one year, and toward the latter part I 
usually failed to appear on the Monday 
morning after pay-day. As long as men 
were scarce and work plentiful, my con- 
duct was tolerated; when conditions 
changed, however, I was, naturally, one 
of the first laid off. 

I was completely disgusted with myself, 
but fool-like, I laid most of the blame on 
my surroundings. I thought it possible 
that if I went out west I could overcome 
this appetite and live decently and re- 
spectably. With this end in view, I went 



236 TOM FOGARTT 

to Kansas City, and one of the first things 
I did on arriving was to resume drinking. 
At the end of a week I found myself penni- 
less, and ray face horribly cut and swol- 
len as the result of my protracted spree. 
Heartsick and desperate, I went down to 
the railroad yards, and jumped aboard a 
box car on a moving train. In the morn- 
ing I was hustled out by a zealous brake- 
man and found myself in the quiet, law- 
abiding town of Ottawa, Kan. 

Walking about to size up the town, I 
fell in with some fellows who were work- 
ing on the grade of a new branch line that 
was being built between Ottawa and Em- 
poria. I went out to their camp on the 
outskirts of town, and in spite of my 
dilapidated appearance, I obtained work. 
I was engaged to drive a span of mules for 
the contractor (D. P. Alexander, I think 
was the name), and for a little more than 
one month I hustled a dump wagon in and 
out, to the accompaniment of a continu- 
ous "Bring them in here," or "Get 'em out" 
from the lips of the noisy and profane but 
otherwise rather pleasant foreman. 

We lived in tents, and in many ways the 
life was not so joyless or disagreeable as 
one, looking on from the outside, might 
suppose. 

For me, when I became initiated, it al- 
ways possessed a certain attraction, in 
spite of the heavy -work and the lack of 
certain accessories that are usually 
thought to be indispensable. I followed 



TOM FOQABTY 237 

the_life of a laborer on public works for 
quite a number of years after this, and I 
here testify that I found the vast major- 
ity of the men so occupied, to be industri- 
ous, good tempered, obliging* and char- 
itable towards each other to the utmost 
degree when at work and clear from the 
brutalizing effects of the horrible, life 
and soul-destroying liquor, which is sold 
to them under the name of whisky. I 
have seen men who have lived peacefully 
and friendly together for months, trans- 
formed, in a few hours, under its influence, 
into veritable demons, capable of commit- 
ting any atrocity. 

From Ottawa I went up into Nebraska, 
in company with other men from Alexan- 
der's outfit, and found work on a new 
branch of the B. & M. R. R. from Beatrice 
to Tecumseh, and later in the season^ from 
Nemaha City to Salem. When construc- 
tion ceased, because of cold weather, I 
went south and worked for the Ft. Scott 
& Gulf Co., returning again to Nebraska 
in the spring, and finding employment on 
the extension of the B. & M. from Odell, 
Neb., to Concordia, Kan. 

So I went on for quite a number of 
years, working industriously and plum- 
ing myself on the better life I was leading 
because I no longer followed robbery as a 
profession. Yet I knew at the time that 
I was at heart just as much a rogue as 
ever. I soon obtained a position as fore- 
man; as a matter of fact, I was given 



238 TOM FOG ARTY 

charge of a gang of men by the second 
contractor for whom I worked. The 
three years apprenticeship to the car- 
penter's bench at Feltham gave me a cer- 
tain facility with tools, and my mode of 
life in the past served to furnish me with 
a good deal of confidence in my ability 
to do things. To while away the hours in 
a prison cell, I had read a great deal of 
matter on almost every conceivable- sub- 
ject, and as I had always been blessed with 
a remarkably retentive memory, I found 
a great deal of it. helpful in my new life. 
I got along well with my comrades while 
we were in camp or on work train. When 
we were having what we called '"a good 
time" in town or city, I am forced to say 
the opposite was the rule. Then when 
under the influence of whisky my true 
nature had its sway I became quarrel- 
some and insulting. I would purposely 
provoke a fight, and in many instances 
got more than I bargained for, but never 
more than I deserved. 

I did not follow this method of life 
without objections and warnings, both 
from my own conscience and from the 
friendly lips of others. I made many 
friends among those who worked with 
me, or were over me. Very often they 
would advise me to drop the habit that 
was pulling me down, but their words 
were wasted. The trouble was they did 
not seem to understand the true condition 
of affairs, but I did. I knew that I was 



TOM FOG ARTY 239 

more than willing to drop the habit of 
drinking, but the habit would not drop me. 
It was niy master. I had indulged and 
petted it for many, many years. I had 
fed it many times at dreadful cost to my- 
self; thinking, always, that when the 
proper time came I would rid myself of it. 
But in proportion as it grew stronger, 1 
became weaker, and I had settled down at 
last, a passive slave, but not contented. 

Doubtless, some who read this will say 
all that was needed was a determined 
effort of will on my part. Ah! May God 
keep all such critics from ever knowing 
the pain and humiliation I have often felt 
when I failed miserably at the end of one 
of those "determined efforts of will," a 
daily fight lasting, perhaps, for months. 
The thing needful was the power of Al- 
mighty God; the living Christ that saves 
and keeps me today as He graciously has 
for more than four years past. This it is to 
be free. 

Some day I purpose, God willing, to 
write a detailed description of the life of 
a laborer on public works — particularly 
of those who build and repair the river 
levees and the railroads of our common 
country. They are sui generis — living a 
nomadic life, working northward with the 
birds of passage in the spring, and flying 
south with the first signs of cold weather. 
Hardy and industrious, as a rule, while at 
work — frugal and saving to penuriousness 
until they have a "stake," as they term 



2 4 o TOM FOQARTY 

their savings, then, away at break-neck 
speed for the nearest large city, beating 
their way thither in freight cars or on the 
steps of baggage cars in order that they 
may have a greater amount to throw into 
the greedy maw of some soul-less bar- 
keeper. For a few brief hours they are 
Humored by the obsequious man behind 
the bar. Their foolish, maudlin sallies 
are uproariously laughed at and admired 
by the wretched crew of hangers-on that 
infests all such places. They are lavish 
with their money until the last dollar is 
spent, then they are soon plainly noti- 
fied that the best, and, in fact, the only 
thing for them to do is to hunt a job 
where they can make another stake. And 
the astonishing fact remains that they go 
on regularly repeating this folly until 
disease or accident ends their miserable 
career. 

This was the life that I had drifted into. 
I struggled against it; I resolved again 
and again that I would not be a prey to a 
lot of sharks; I would curb my desires, 
save my hard-earned money and try to 
get into a better position. But under the 
burning heat of temptation my good reso- 
lutions melted and vanished lite untimely 
snow beneath the rays of a summer sun. 

I did not give up the fight without an 
effort. I purposely sought and obtained 
work in Kansas because of the difficulty 
experienced there in getting intoxicating 
liquors, I worked for two years as fore- 






TOM FOG ARTY 241 

man on an extension of the Santa Fe rail- 
road, my headquarters being within a few 
miles of the Cherokee Strip, and a short 
distance from "No Man's Land." But that 
did not conquer the accursed habits that I 
had so long cultivated. My work on the 
track was so satisfactory, that an outgo- 
ing roadmaster introduced me to his suc- 
cessor as the most reliable man on the 
line. Yet, within two months of that day, 
I was the prominent figure in a disgrace- 
ful drunken escapade that nearly cost me 
my life, and that resulted in my suspen- 
sion, for a few days, from my position. 

In spite of this shameful act on my part, 
I resumed my work and managed, because 
of the absence of saloons, to so conduct 
myself that when during the following 
year the acting roadmaster was trans- 
ferred to Oklahoma to prepare for the 
opening of that territory, through his 
recommendation I was appointed tempor- 
ary roadmaster in his stead, by Superin- 
tendent Turner. 

Why do I write these details? In order 
that tne reader may thoroughly under- 
stand the fact that although I was pos- 
sessed of a certain amount of ability and 
was very energetic and even industrious; 
yet I was so completely dominated by my 
passions and the evil habits of a lifetime, 
that I was powerless to hold out against 
temptation. 

Through the kindness of friends I was 
placed as foreman at Guthrie, Oklahoma, 



242 TOM FOGARTY 

a few weeks previous to the opening, and 
when that much-talked-of event occurred. 
I was in charge of the track there. Of 
course, I made quite a sum of money. I 
had no scruples, and being on the ground 
when the rush came, I took advantage of 
my position. But it was ill-gotten gain, 
and never benefitted me a particle. I left 
there with a pass to Kansas City the fol- 
lowing July, and the saloons and gam- 
bling hells of that town soon emptied my 
pockets. 

So I went on year after year. Growing, 
not more depraved or wicked, for that I 
believe was impossible, but, less able to 
control myself for even a short period. 
Oh, how I hated and despised myself. At 
first I would hunt for a new job just as 
soon as my money was spent, being 
ashamed to loaf around the bar-rooms 
with empty pockets. In time, this feeling 
wore off, and I taught myself to sit and 
wait for other simple fools that I might 
satisfy my horrible thirst at their ex- 
pense, even as others had drank at mine. 
But there was never any enjoyment in 
it. 

Years before, I had said that if I only 
had an equal chance with other men — if 
I could but once get into a respectable 
position, I would show that I was able to 
hold my own against all comers, but I 
had gotten over that idea long ago. My 
own actions had proclaimed me a liar and 
foolish boaster. I could not hold a good 



TOM FOGARTY 243 

position when it was given to me. I might 
hold on for awhile, but failure was inev- 
itable. 

Let me cite one instance in proof of this 
assertion. In the early part of March, 
1890, I left Kansas City to work on an 
extra gang for the Santa Fe Company near 
Hurdland, Mo. ' The pay was $1.25 per day, 
and the work was extremely dirty and 
laborious, because of the wet weather. I 
was a stranger to all the officials, although 
I had worked for the company west of the 
Missouri River. In less than one month I 
had charge of a gang, and in July I 
was transferred to the Chicago division as 
assistant roadmaster under Charles A. 
Lehmann. My headquarters was at 
Streator, 111., and there was every indica- 
tion that, there was room for me higher 
up in official life. Yet, on or about the 
first of "October that same year, I re- 
signed my position, candidly giving as a 
reason to Mr. Lehman for so doing, my 
inability to keep straight and sober any 
longer. A humiliating confession, yet it 
was the truth. 

Change of scene made no difference in 
the result. I drifted to St. Louis, Mo., and 
obtained a position as foreman of extra 
gang for the "Iron Mountain" railroad in 
that city, but was compelled to leave 
through my unconquerable habit of drink- 
ing. I was tired of life and of myself, and 
I here solemnly affirm that again and 
again I stood face to face with the dread- 



244 TOM FOGARTY 

ful spectre of self-murder, but was re- 
strained, I firmly believe, by the hand of a 
merciful God. 

Looking back at the unutterable misery 
of those days, I shudder at their awful 
blackness, while my heart is filled with 
sorrow at the thought of the thousands 
who are in the self-same deplorable condi- 
tion today. Yet, God's mercy is wide 
enoug to take them all in, if they will but 
believe and obey. 



"^K 




# 



\ 




CHAPTER XXII. 

A NEW REVELATION. 

N the spring- of 
1893, I came back 
to Chicago with 
the hope that I 
might gain some 
money in -the 
great harvest of 
the World's Fair. 
When it was 
over, I was as 
poor as ever in purse, and a shade 
lower in my own and the world's estima- 
tion. During the summer I was interested 
in one of the many fake shows that infest- 
ed the neighborhood of the Exposition. 
Carl Browne, who afterwards became no- 
torious because of his connection with 
"Coxey's Army," was, for a time, the artist 
and also interlocutor of the show. I do 
not care to dwell on the experiences of 
that summer, except to say that it was, 
on my part, almost a continuous shameful 
drunken spree. 

It is a matter of history that Chicago, 
in the fall of that year, was literally over- 
run with idle, poverty-stricken men from 
all parts of the world. Many of them had 
come to the citjr expecting to find remu- 
nerative and, perhaps, steady emplojnnent, 
but they had failed. Others, like myself, 
wasted every dollar that so easily came to 



2 4 6 TOM FOGAMTY 

their hands during the flush days, and 
now, as winter drew near, they began to 
reap even as they had sowed. The first 
bitter cold night sent them by the hun- 
dred to the police stations for shelter. 

And now I have to relate an incident 
that is really the reason for my having 
had the courage to write my life's story. 
My purpose through it all has been, 1 truly 
believe, to glorify God and help my fellow- 
men — especially those who are bound in 
the fetters that for so many weary years 
bound me. 

One very cold night in December of that 
same memorable year, I stood, in company 
with a saloon associate, at the corner of 
Clark and VanBuren streets. Together 
we had left a dive on the West Side that 
afternoon, and had wandered in and out 
of saloon after saloon, seeking an oppor- 
tunity to obtain a little money, but failing 
completely. 

"Well, that's all there is to it," said he, 
as we left the last bar room and paused 
irresolute, on the corner. "It's no use 
tryin' any furder. I'm goin' to stay with 
a friend an' git sobered up and rested. I 
s'pose I'll see you tomorrer down at 
Palmer's?" 

"I guess so," was my answer. I had 
been searching my barren pockets while 
he spoke, and found my whole capital 
consisted of one dime. 

"I'm done up," I continued. "I want to 
get a night's sleep if I can. I've only got 



TOM FOGARTY 247 

ten cents left, and I hate to g*o back to 
the West Side tonight," 

"Well, yer can git a bed fer that 'round 
here; but yer don't have to blow it in fer a 
bed unless yer want to. They're keepin' 
that mission open all night 'cause of the 
cold, and you can sit up there if you like." 
He said this very unconcernedly, and I 
listened without much show of interest, 
neither of us knowing at this time the 
glorious possibilities that were opened for 
me for all eternity because of my subse- 
quent action as the result of those few 
words. 

I laughed and made some jeering re- 
mark in reply. I walked a short distance 
south with him, and when we parted I re- 
traced my steps, stopping in at a disrepu- 
table dive on my way back, where I spent 
my last cent. I waited a little while, hop- 
ing that some one who knew me would 
come in, that I might borrow a trifle or, at 
least, get a few more drinks, but none 
came, so I unwillingly bent my steps to- 
ward the Pacific Garden Mission. 

After all, I had hardly sufficient courage 
to enter, but just as I came near the door 
it opened, and a wave of melody rolled out 
and as I stopped, undecided, some one 
pleasantly invited me in, and I slunk in. 
Heedless of the request to "go on up in 
front," I slipped into the first vacant seat 
and pressed over close to the wall. The 
place was warm and felt very comfort- 
able, and I was completely worn out, so I 



248 TOM FOGARTY 

drew the collar of my coat up about my 
ears and, resting my shoulder against the 
friendly wall, I began to doze, despite the 
talk of a very earnest man who was oc- 
cupying the platform. I wanted to sleep* 
I dreaded the moment when the vile liquor 
I had been drinking all day would die out 
in me, and my shattered nerves would be- 
gin to cry out for their accustomed stim- 
ulant. 

My sleep, however, was banished sud- 
denly by the whole congregation appar- 
ently breaking out' in song. This was fol- 
lowed, I think, by one or two other lively 
hymns. I was always passionately fond 
of music; not even my depraved and vic- 
ious manner of life had robbed me of this 
blessing, so I rather think that I tried to 
help on some of the choruses. I don't 
know. One thing I do know. My atten- 
tion was suddenly arrested by some words 
spoken by a man on the platform. He 
had evidently been speaking for a little 
while before I caught the tenor of his 
remarks. 

"The convict's stripes and years in pris- 
on cell failed to reform me; but the power 
of Almighty God in one moment trans- 
formed me." 

I looked up at the well-dressed, pros- 
perous-looking man who was speaking, 
and wondered if I heard aright. His face 
was lit up with enthusiasm, and his whole 
bearing denoted earnest conviction. As 
he went on to describe his former life and 



TOM FOOARTY 



m 



3 s 




250 TOM FOGARTY 

the wonderful things that he asserted 
God had done for him, I looked carefully 
around into the faces of my immediate 
neighbors to note what effect his words 
were having upon them. They were all 
attentive, but evidently not astonished. 
They seemed used to it. 

It is simply impossible for anyone, save 
just such as myself, to appreciate or un- 
derstand the effect these words had on 
me. 

I had listend to sermons delivered by 
able and eloquent divines. Sunday after 
Sunday, I heard God's law thundered at 
my head, while an armed guard stood or 
sat near to enforce rigid attention. I had 
often been moved by the persuasive plead- 
ings of Christian people, but for the first 
time, in a very checkered life, I heard tes- 
timony of God's love, mercy and keeping 
power from the lips of one who stood con- 
fessed as having been as black in crime; 
as deep in sin and shame, as even I. 

I was not a church or mission goer. 
Even the street evangelist, I avoided, be- 
lieving, in my shallow ignorance and con- 
ceit, that they were either fanatical fools, 
or worse. 

The well-meant and kindly overtures of 
the chaplains of different prisons, I had 
always rejected, so that I had no concep- 
tion or idea of the miracles of grace that 
are really of daily occurrence wherever 
sinful man permits a loving God to work 
His will. It was a new revelation to me. 



TOM FOGABTT 25* 

The man beside me was, in appearance, 
just such another as myself. He bore all 
the symptoms of the disease with which 
I was afflicted. 

"Who is that fellow?" I asked, "D'yer 
know him?" 

In a very few words he assured me that 
the speaker's story was not only true, but 
he added something to it that heightened 
my interest in the whole strange tale. 

"He's all right; he's no fake. He's a 
reg'lar religious crank — nutty, yer know, 
— and," he added, in conclusion, "lots of 
these fellows work him for their bed- 
money. You touch him at the door as he 
goes out, and he'll give yer the price of a 
doss." 

While we were muttering together, 
others in different parts of the room 
were giving short, but intensely graphic 
testimonies to the wonderful change that 
had come into their lives since their con- 
version. Some had lived a clean life for 
years; others, according to their own 
words, had but just started, and al- 
though there was a noticeable difference 
in their dress and personal appearance — 
they all seemed to fairly beam with en- 
thusiasm and fervor while trying to tell 
their stories. 

So; I had been cheating myself all nay 
life. This was the thought that burned 
its way into my callous heart as I sat 
there. I was convinced of the truth and 
sincerity of the men, and wondered, feeb- 



252 TOM FOGARTT 

ly, why I had never given myself a chance 
to hear of this marvelous thing. 

God's love for man. Yes, I had heard of 
that, many a time. But I had naturally 
supposed, if there was any truth in the 
story, it was the well-behaved, the decent, 
and law-abiding, the church members, who 
were meant bj r the assertion of His love 
for man. How could any one, much less 
a righteous and holy God, care for such 
an unlovable wretch as I was. Why, I 
hated and despised myself. The thing I 
most desired was to be absolutely rid of 
myself. In my own estimation, I was 
worthless. Therefore, why should God 
esteem me of any value? 

And yet, if the words I had heard were 
true — perhaps, after all, there was a hope 
for better things for me. 

I have only a confused memory of the 
closing exercises. An appeal was made 
for those who desired a better life — those 
who were sick of sin, and truly sorry for 
their past — to come to the front, and 
some, I noticed, went. forward, but I paid 
very little attention to the rest of the 
service. I was absorbed by a new idea. 

I sat there all through the night. I 
dozed a little, but even in my broken sleep 
this new and wonderful thing interjected 
itself. 

When the doors were opened in the 
morning, I passed out in/to the cold, 
cheerless street with the rest of the grum- 
bling, disconsolate mob — some £.Ye nun- 



TOM FUGARTY 253 

dred in number, and as I hurried away 
from them, the supreme thought ruling 
me was a determination to speedily know 
more about this new revelation. 

During the whole of that day I wan- 
dered about the streets of Chicago, 
looking in a desultory, impractical 
way for work, and, of course, linding 
none. I did not go back 1o my old haunts 
on the West Side — for some reason I felt 
a repugnance against so doing; but that 
feeling did not prevent me from going in- 
to saloons in various parts of the city to 
warm up, or try to get a bite of lunch. 1 
suffered considerably for want of liquor. 
I was paying the penalty for my vicious 
habits. 

Hungry, tired and miserable, I made my 
way back to the Mission again that even- 
ing, impelled by a burning desire to hear 
and learn more of this strange, new 
thing. 

As I passed up VanBuren street, while 
yet some distance from the corner, I 
could hear the strains of the cornet shrill- 
ing out cheerfully on the cold air, and I 
wondered that I had been around Chicago 
so long without really knowing of this 
peculiar place of meeting. 

"Step inside, good people," a fellow with 
a voice stentorian, yet persuasive, was 
shouting on the street near the door. 
"Step inside. It's warm and comfortable, 
and you'll find a heart}^ welcome. You 
don't have to stay if you don't want to, 



254 TOM FOGARfY 

and everything's free. Go inside, old fel- 
low," (this was addressed to me, as I came 
up), "and hear redeemed men tell their 
wonderful stories." 

I went inside and seated myself near the 
stove. I rather enjoyed the singing", and 
then I sat, impatient, while some one on 
the platform delivered a sermon. It 
seemed interminable, but it was my condi- 
tion of body and mind that made it seem 
so, I suppose. Again, I heard men and 
even women in different parts of the room 
publicly announce the depths of degra- 
dation, shame and crime in which they 
had lived previous to their conversion, and 
quite a number of them emphasized the' 
fact that by God's power their lives had 
been completely changed in an instant; 
some asserting, positively, that the old 
habits that, in spite of good resolves, had 
ruled them for long years, had passed 
away so completely, that they had not 
even to fight any more against those ap- 
petites and desires, since they no longer 
felt them. 

For four nights in succession I sat all 
night in that old Mission. During the 
service hours I listened to and took note 
of the speakers. I enquired among the 
hangers-on and regular attendants, and 
learned all that I could as to the present 
manner of life and antecedents of those 
that I had heard testify, more especially 
those who acknowledged a previous crim- 
inal record. As a wonderful tribute to 



TOM FOGARTY 



255 




256 TOM FOGABTY 

the power of Almighty God I here assert 
that I found, in nearly every case, those 
men were living lives so consistent, abste- 
mious, charitable and pure, that I was com- 
pelled to believe that some new power had 
come to them. 

I had always been a very weak man, 
swayed by every gust of passion or de- 
sire, but in spite of this J possessed a fair- 
ly good power of analysis. In prison 
cells I had delighted to work on difficult 
problems, so that now it was quite an 
easjr thing for me to see that if the stories 
of these people were founded on fact, then 
the power that availed to save — to recre- 
ate them, was at my call if I would fulfill 
the conditions. 

"Certainty, it is for you," said the Men- 
tor within me, changing his ground with 
lightning rapidity. The previous argu- 
ment had always been, "You are an Ish- 
maelite; this thing, if true, is not for such 
as you." 

"Of course, it is for you,, but are you go- 
ing to-ask for it in the condition you are 
in? Straighten up; quit your boozing; 
get to work, clean yourself up and then 
when your appearance is at least respect- 
able, come like a man and acknowledge 
your faults." 

This was the gist of the thoughts that 
ran through my befuddled mind as I sat 
through those nights in that dear old Mis- 
sion — God bless it and its workers. Like 
the ungrateful, wicked fool that I was, I 



TOM FOGARTY 257 

listened and consented to this specious 
pleading of the devil and closing my heart 
to God's voice, I went forth to make one 
more effort at self-reform. 

I could find no steady work. After a 
while the stress of weather and my pov- 
erty compelled me to join the ever-mem- 
orable gang of unfortunates that swept 
the public streets of Chicago, that win- 
ter; earning, by three hours work each 
day, two meals of bread and soup and a 
ticket for a bed at one of the many huge 
lodging houses that abound in that city. 

I tried to quieten my conscience by say- 
ing that this was a step in the right direc- 
tion; that it was much better than steal- 
ing, but deep in my inmost self, I knew 
that it was as much loss of my old-time 
nerve and ability as anything else that 
kept me from crooked acts. I hated the 
position I occupied. I was bitter against 
the onlookers, even when I detected pit}' 
in their faces. I said, over and over 
again, to myself, "Well, this is the worst 
of all your experiences, Tom, and should 
be a lesson for you." But it wasn't. 

When the celebrated English journalist, 
Stead, transformed himself into a tramp, 
for the occasion, in order that he might 
have practical knowledge of the workings 
of this peculiar relief system, and be able 
to write with authority thereof, I was, 
also, to my shame be it recorded, one of 
the gang that handled shovel and broom 
on the streets that day. 




CHAPTER XXIII. 

TO LIBERTY, LIGHT AND LIFE. 

SHORT time after this, 
»\p while working on the 
VS* m£*$m?f&' streets, I, in company with 
nine others, was hired by 
a contractor named Mc- 
Sorley — still a resident of 
Chicago— to pnll down a house on South 
Halsted street, opposite Meridian. The 
job was given to us by contract. Mr. Mc- 
Sorley furnished the necessary tools, and 
by the choice of the men I was given the 
position of boss or foreman. Being, all 
of us, absolutely penniless, the contractor 
was compelled to find us a restaurant 
wherein to eat, and be our security for 
pay when the job was completed. In ad- 
dition to this, he gave me, each night, suffi- 
cient money to pay for our lodgings. 

In spite of a terrible snow-storm that 
occurred at this time, we got through with 
the job in good time. The contractor had 
privately agreed to give me ten dollars ex- 
tra if I used extra care in saving timber, 
doors and windows in the work of razing 
the building. He paid us in full, deducting 
of course, the amounts owing for bed 
and board. Then he gave me, personally, 
another contract to pull down a two- 
story stable in the rear. He promised me 
a steady and good position with him 
through the then coming summer, I 



TOM FOGARTY 259 

thanked him and determined, more than 
ever, that I would live a changed, a clean 
life. 

It was about noon when we were paid 
off for the first contract. I took five of 
the fellows in with me on the new work, 
letting the others go, and in McSorley's 
presence we commenced tearing the roof 
off of the stable. He watched us for prob- 
ably an hour; then left with a word of en- 
couragement; expressing the hope that 
the job would be finished in as short a 
time as possible. 

After he left, the thought came to me 
that the men would work a great deal fas- 
ter if they had a drink. They deserved it 
for the good work they had done on the 
previous job. I didn't need it, myself; oh, 
no! not at all. One drink would do no 
harm, but would stimulate the men to 
more active work. I went over to the 
corner of Meridian street and bought a 
bottle of whisky, buying an extra drink for 
myself at the same time. The bottle was 
emptied in short order, and its effect was 
seen in the rapid movements of the men. 
Then another bottle, and some beer was 
sent for, and in a short time work was 
ended for the day, and we carried our 
tools, for safety, to an adjoining 
saloon. 

Late that night I staggered up the steps 
of the "System" lodging house, on South 
Clark street, in a truly deplorable state. 
When I awoke, near noon the next day, I 



26o TOM FOGARTY 

felt more wretched than at any time in my 
whole, miserable, worthless life. I was all 
battered and bruised; I had not one cent 
left in my pockets. The only decent gar- 
ment I owned in the world — my overcoat 
— was gone, and I here confess that I saw 
nothing before me but death. 

This was the result of my resolutions 
for reform. I was fitting myself truly to 
be a proper subject for God's mercy. I 
had aimed to become respectable, and this 
w T as the outcome. I longed for death and 
oblivion, but, thank God, I feared to take 
the necessary step. 

The rest of the fellows were in nearly as 
bad a plight as I. They induced me to get 
up, and some of them having a little 
money left, we went to a near-by saloon to 
steady our nerves. They tried to per- 
suade me to go back and finish our con- 
tract, but I refused, decidedly. The idea 
of going to that man and confessing that, 
after he had taken me off the streets, and 
given me work, advancing money for bed 
and board, I was so utterly worthless and 
weak that I could not keep straight for 
even one day after I had money, was al- 
together beyond me. I could not face 
him. Street-sweeping was more endur- 
able than that, so I went sullenly back to 
it, while the other men went back to Hal- 
sted street and, after a little delay and 
some scolding from McSorley, they com- 
pleted the job. He was kind enough to 
send several messages to me, urging me 



TOM FOGARTY 



261 




262 TOM FOQARTY 

to come to work, but I could not, or would 
not, do it. 

I think the recital of this disgraceful 
episode in my career must convince any 
candid and impartial reader that I was 
not only an extremely weak and worth- 
less man, but that I had gotten into such 
an awful condition of body and mind that 
I was incapable of doing right, although 
my very existence depended upon my so 
doing. 

The following weeks were inexpressibly 
dreadful to me. My appearance, sad as it 
was, altered greatly for the worse. I no- 
ticed that children and dogs shunned me, 
and some of the habitues of lodging houses 
and barrel houses who were acquainted 
with me, seemed impelled to lecture me on 
my manner of life. I hated and despised 
myself and knew that I was contemptible, 
but it hurt grievously to have to listen to 
the comments of such as these, even while 
drinking at their expense. 

I went to the Mission very often at 
night, impelled by a power that was inex- 
plicable. I tried to make myself believe 
that the testimonies were umrue. Again, 
and yet again, I left there at the close of 
the service saying there was nothing in it, 
and swearing that I wouldn't waste my 
time by going there any more. But, thank 
God, I went back in spite of all my 
bluster. 

On Saturday, March 24, 1894, I went out 
as usual, and worked the regulation num- 



TOM FOQABTY 263 

ber of hours on the streets, receiving, as 
was customary, extra tickets for meals 
and bed for the next day — Easter Sunday. 
There was a great deal of talk about dis- 
continuing the work, because with the end 
of winter times were improving. I paid 
very little attention to this. I was uncon- 
cerned. I was hopeless, and cared nothing 
for the future for which I had no plans. T 
had come to the end. 

I made my way to the Mission that night 
and as I leaned against the wall and 
looked about at the crowd of men, if 1 
had any recognizable desire or wish in 
my heart it was that I might see some one 
present who knew me, who had the price 
of a drink. In sober earnest, after a 
great deal of careful consideration at in- 
tervals during the past four years, I write 
the above as my honest conviction as to 
my state of mind that Saturday night. 

vSomething must have been said that im- 
pressed me, unusually, for I found nryself 
reviewing the scenes and incidents of my 
life, and I must say that I found very lit- 
tle comfort in the retrospection. In the 
midst of it all, someone testifying, cried 
out, pleadingly: "Oh, fellows! Jesus loves 
you." I can't explain it; I will not at- 
tempt to do so. I only know that some- 
thing within me stirred, piteously, as I 
heard the words. Fountains, long dry, 
were unsealed, and my eyes were wet with 
unaccustomed tears. 

An appeal was made for those who de- 



264 TOM FOGARTY 

sired the prayers of the Christians pres- 
ent, to hold up their hands. I essayed to 
do so, but failed. My arms seemed weight- 
ed down by external pressure. But the 
leader, dear Harry Monroe, did not stop 
at that. In a voice full of inspiration he 
urged those who had raised their hands 
and any others who wanted to quit their 
hard, barren life of sin, to come up to the 
front and show their determination by 
giving him their hands. 

I turned to the man beside me — a lodg- 
ing house acquaintance — and said, "good 
bye," and as I said it I arose and pushed 
my way to the front of the platform, 
where I fell on my knees, rudely repulsing 
everyone who came near to advise or con- 
sole me. 

I felt that no one could understand or 
appreciate my case. I knew that so far as 
my effort was concerned I was incurable. 
It was life or death with me, and I was 
afraid they would talk of minor ailments. 
I did not know of the large hearted God- 
given sympathy that is possessed by every 
true Christian, so, in my moment of de- 
spair, I turned away from their words of 
loving counsel. 

I tried to pray, but failed. The words 
came back to me, hollow and meaningless. 
The same voice that had previously said 
"Wait till you are respectable," now as- 
sured me it was "too late." But he is the 
father of lies. 

When everything seemed darkest, a 



TOM FOGARTY 265 

young man came to me and by the abso- 
lute power of God's own Word, convinced 
me that if I was penitent for my past mis- 
deeds, and had an earnest desire to "cease 
to do evil and learn to do well," God's love 
as shown in the sacrifice and death of His 
Son, was large enough to forgive the past 
and sustain me for the future. 

I believed His Word, and an indescrib- 
able calm took possession of me. I arose 
and thanked God for His mercy and good- 
ness, and went back to the lodging house 
conscious that I was a changed man. For 
how long? Thank God, for eternity. 
Like one of old who said, "One thing I 
know, that, whereas I was blind, now I 
see," even so is it with me. I entered 
those Mission doors that night, intemper- 
ate, dishonest, profane and altogether 
vile; and I declare before all men that as I 
knelt there the habits that had dominated 
my life fell from me like a filthy garment, 
and I walked forth a free man, master of 
myself. 

I was a lonely man. In all the world, 
there was not one that I knew would care 
to hear of my conversion. I had no rela- 
tives, nor even friends, but He, who trod 
the winepress alone, walked beside me, 
and His presence, sympathy and love has 
sustained ever since. 

By appointment, the next morning, 
(Easter Sunday), I met the ruddy-cheeked 
lad who had so kindly and efficiently held 
up God's promises to me the previous 



266 . TOM FOQARTY 

night, when my soul was despairing. He 
was a divinity student at the Moody In- 
stitute, and as I entered the room where 
the students were gathered for morning 
service, a new and peculiar sensation of 
peace and rest swept over me. They were 
singing "Beloved; now are we the sons of 
God, etc.," and my soul said, almost trium- 
phantly, "This is my heritage and por- 
tion, also." 

A little later in the day I, in company 
with my young student, attended the con- 
verts' meeting at the Mission, and there, 
in trembling, uncertain tones, but with a 
true and holy purpose in my heart, I pub- 
licly announced, for the first time in my 
life, that I had forsaken and renounced, by 
God's help, forever, not the evil habit of 
drunkenness; not my ingrained dishon- 
esty, not any other of the impure habits 
that had disgraced my life and had made 
me a burden and nuisance to the world, 
but my sins. 

My hearers kindly greeted me and spoke 
re-assuringly of my future. The warm 
clasp of their hands and the evident sin- 
cerity of their words sent me back to -the 
miserable lodging house that Sunday af- 
ternoon with an unwonted glow at my 
heart. I hardly knew what to expect or 
where to turn for work, but I was reso- 
lute in one thing. I would do my best and 
trust in Almighty God. 

I was a changed man, and I knew it# 
I had no fear of the future, although I 



TOM FOGABTY 267 

was penniless and, seemingly, man- 
forsaken. One text that I had heard some- 
where in the past, kept ringing- in my 
ears, and I appropriated it to my own 
especial use. I knew not, at that time, 
where the words were to be found, but I 
now know that they form the last clause 
of Ps. 84:11. 

"The Lord will give grace and glory! 
No good thing will he withhold from 
them that walk uprightly." 

I was destitute and out of work. I was 
sure that I had found forgiveness, and now 
among the many good things that were 
ahead, I confidently expected work. I 
went out to look for it and, of course, 
found it. 

On the first day, in company with anoth- 
er man, a convert, I walked down into the 
neighborhood of the World's Fair grounds 
— some five miles from the lodging house 
— and we earned sixty cents between us, 
moving furniture. I cannot tell how much 
that thirty cents meant to me as I walked 
lightly back that evening. It was not a 
great sum, but it would suffice to pay for 
supper, bed and breakfast, and that was 
all sufficient for the present. 

The next morning the snow was falling 
when I awoke, and a gloomy pall hung 
over the city. My partner was crest- 
fallen. "There," said he, "that's always 
the way. When a fellow starts out to do 
right, there's something sure to turn up 
to hinder him." 



268 TOM FOOARfy 

But I felt absolutely light-hearted. I 
had been at the Mission the night before, 
and had declared, publicly, my faith in 
God's power and willingness to keep that 
which I had committed to His charge. 
That meant my bodily needs, as well as my 
soul's welfare, and I was sincere in my 
testimony. 

"We'll be all right," said I, "this snow 
will only make work for us. Come out 
and get some breakfast, and you'll feel 
better." 

After eating, we started out in the fall- 
ing snow to look for work, but we had 
scarcely gone a block before he com- 
menced grumbling and prophesyiUg fail- 
ure on our part. After a few words we 
parted, he going back to the lodging house 
to wait for better weather, while I turned 
north on LaSalle street, determined to 
hunt work until I found it. 

Before I had gone quite a block, I saw a 
colored man come out from an entry 
carrying a pan of ashes and dirt. With 
a prayer for help, I asked him for work. 

"Can't you give me a job?" said I. 
"Haven't you any windows to clean, or 
coal to carry up?" 

He looked at me very kindly and an- 
swered: "You come back here about 10 
o'clock and mebbe I'll find you some- 
thin' to do." I thanked him. 

As I crossed the street, diagonally, pass- 
ing under the shadow of the Woman's 
Temple, I was so elated that I felt as if 



TOM FOGARTV 



269 



walking on stilts. The snow was softly 
but steadily falling-, and was being trod- 
den into slush by the feet of the throng 
O 'oing to their morning work, but what 
did I care. I knew that my needs would 
be all supplied. I walked along trium- 
phant in the knowledge that I was master 
of myself and of my own fate. 

My condition and environment has won- 
derfully changed for the better, since that 
morning, nearly five years ago, but mj 
heart is stirred once more with gratitude 
to God as I recall the events of that pe- 
culiarly happy time. I had gotten into a 
new world and felt myself a new man. 




CHAPTER XXIV. 




THE HAVEN OF REST. 

H E snow-covered 
streets appeared 
in a new aspect 
to me as I looked 
about from 
point to point in 
search of a pos- 
sible job of work. 
Just at the 
momienlt that 1 
came to the 
corner of the alley, nearly opposite the Y. 
M. C. A. building, an elderly man, with a 
full dark beard, was sweeping the snow 
from the curved iron steps. 

"Let me sweep those steps for you, mis- 
ter." 

He turned as I spoke, and pleasantly 
answered: "Oh, I guess I can do it my- 
self." 

"I'll sweep them for a nickel," said I, 
"I'm out of work, and you won't miss 
it." 

"Here! I'll give you ten cents," was the 
reply, as he handed me the broom. Then 
he showed me what he wished me to do, 
and I swept away, happy and more than 
contented, although the wet snow oozed 
through my old broken shoes. 

I finished up three or four doors from 
the corner in front of an office that stood 



TOM FOG ARTY 271 

a few feet below -the street level. My 
employer stood looking on through the 
window at me and, tapping on the win- 
dow, he beckoned me inside. 

"That'll do; You have done well. Now, 
this gentleman wants to speak to you." 

One of the men had come from behind 
a desk, and as I turned to face him, he 
held out his hand toward me and said: 
"Our janitor has told us you're out: of 
work and he told us, also, of your offer to 
work for such a small sum. Now, here's 
a little token of our appreciation of your 
spirit. It's only a little, but we hope you 
will put it to good use." 

"Yes," said a smiling young fellow look- 
ing at me quizzically over the top of his 
desk, "Whatever you do, don't go on a 
protracted spree and waste it all in riot- 
ous living." 

The amount was thirty-five cents, and ] 
felt that the young man was good-humor- 
edly trying to mak? my position as easy 
as possible for me. God bless him. My 
heart was too full with gratitude to God 
for this manifestation of His care for me, 
to be at all critical as to the words that 
came with the gift. I thanked them 
heartily, and as the janitor paid me the 
ten cents I had earned, he pointed out the 
janitor of the adjoining building, with the 
remark that I could probably get a job 
from him. 

As I walked away, he said: "You can 
have the use of this broom and shovel if 



272 TOM FOQARTY 

you want it and, if you don't get work, 
corae back at four o'clock and I'll have 
another job for you." 

I interviewed the other janitor, and the 
result was I found work with him clean- 
ing windows, scrubbing paint, etc., etc., 
for the remainder of the week at one dol- 
lar and a quarter per day. He even gave 
work to my new mate, but, for some rea- 
son he only kept him one day. 

I went regularly to the mission, and 
after the close I had the privilege, night- 
ly, of walking from Van Buren street 
over to the doors of the Moody Insti- 
tute in company with the young student 
(C. I. McLane) who had been instrumental 
by God's grace, in leading me into the 
light. On the way I would give him a brief 
account of the day's experience, and he 
would show me promises in God's Word. 
We would stand at the door until the clos- 
ing hour and then, with a word of encour- 
agement and blessing from him, I re- 
turned to my quarters on the south side, 
I have lived a very happy, peaceful life 
since then, but there was an exquisite 
charm about those days that I find impos- 
sible of description. I was living in a 
new world and everything was transfig- 
ured by the brightness of Divine light. 

I will not attempt to detail the succes- 
sive steps by which, from digging cellars, 
beating carpets, and catching odd jobs of 
day labor, I worked myself slowly, but 
surely, into my present enviable position, 



TOM FOG ARTY 273 

but there are some incidents in my upward 
march, that I cannot afford to omit. 

Some two months after my conversion, I 
found work cleaning horses in a stable on 
West Washington street. The hours were 
very long, and the pay very small, but I 
was happy. The workers at the Pacific 
Garden Mission were in the habit, during 
the summer months, of attracting atten- 
tion to their evening meetings by singing 
and testifying while standing outside of 
the mission doors on the street. This, of 
course, draws a crowd, and induces many 
a poor soul to enter who, otherwise, 
would have passed by. I was soon able, in 
spite of certain cowardly fears, not only 
to take part in these exercises, but to 
enjoy them, and look forward while at 
work through the day to the evening 
hour, with pleasant anticipation. 

One evening, as I stood at the door, after 
the singing, the leader, Harry Monroe, 
called on me to state in a few words to 
the audience, the reason for our out-door 
demonstration. From a saloon, almost 
opposite, a man came wandering aimlessly 
out. He stood for a moment listening to 
the cheerful ring of the cornet mingled 
with our enthusiastic singing. When the 
music ceased he started fo**a near-by sa« 
loon, but the sound of my voice across 
the narrow street, brought him to a won- 
dering stand-still. 

"I thought so," he muttered, as he 
looked over at me. "I thought I knew that 



274 TOM FOGABTY 

voice. That's Tom, sure enough; but 
what kind of a layout has he got into, 
now? Some new graft, I'll bet." 

He strolled inquisitively across and 
stood among the crowd. When I had fin- 
ished my short talk, he came to my side 
and began to question me. He was a for- 
mer associate of mine; being engaged, 
with me, in a fake show during the World's 
Fair the previous summer. I found great 
difficulty in convincing him that I was 
really transformed; and he left me evi- 
dently very dubious as to my sanity or 
else of my truth. 

However, at my invitation, he came to 
see me at my work, and in a short while I 
got him a situation in the same stable. 
He worked very faithfully for awhile, and 
would occasionally visit the mission, but 
gave no sign. In a few months he lost 
his position through drinking, and drifted 
out of the city, westward. 

On a certain Sunday afternoon, the fol- 
lowing summer I, with others in a gospel 
wagon, had been visiting various corners 
of the down-town district of Chicago. At 
each point we had been favored with an 
attentive audience, and we went back to 
the mission for the evening service, hope- 
ful of good results. The room that night 
was crowded as usual and, after an ad- 
dress when the customary appeal was 
made, a large number stood up and came 
forward for prayers. Among the num- 
ber — in fact, one of the first to rise— was 



TOM FOGARTY . 275 

my quondam friend. God's love had won, 
and he made a complete surrender. 

He afterwards publicly testified that he 
tried hard to believe at first that I was 
working* some new crooked scheme; 
then, that I was harmlessly, but com- 
pletely, demented. He went west, but 
aniid the dissipation and recklessness of 
his daily life, even at times in saloons 
the thought of what he had seen and heard 
in the Mission would cause him to come to 
a pause and think seriously on his ways. 
One day he was ejected from a train, some 
miles west of Omaha, and he started to 
walk the track to an adjacent station. 
Walking the ties, he found at his feet a 
bright colored card which on investigation 
proved to be an invitation to the Pacific 
Garden Mission. It was nothing of itself. 
Just one of the many thousands given out 
yearly by the workers of that grand old 
spot Probably some poor fellow had 
thrown or dropped it from a box car. 
There it was, only a card, but it had a 
Divine message to that man. 

He determined to go back to Chicago. 
One place was as good as another to 
him; so he would see if those fellows were 
still hugging that delusion; if they still 
practised what they preached. He came 
and, thank God, found that His grace and 
keeping power was sufficient. 

That was more than three years ago, and 
his dear old mother lifted by his labors 
from a life of loneliness, of hardship and 



TOM FOGARTT 

penury; happy now in the company of 
her beloved son, is never tired of telling 
of the wonderful joy that has come to her 
in the evening of her life. 

For nearly two years I made my living* by 
hard, laborious work. I enjoyed it, thor^ 
oughly. Of course, my earnings were 
small, but they were more than sufficient 
and I nearly always had a trifle for the 
other fellow. I met many friends who 
were willing to assist me. Some prof erred 
financial help, while others advised my 
becoming a traveling evangelist, they 
manifesting a generous willingness to 
provide the necessary funds for a prepara- 
tory course of Bible instruction. But, for 
certain reasons, I felt compelled to thank- 
fully decline their aid. 

I had become inspired with the idea that 
the Word of God should be literally fol- 
lowed. Now, when I read Paul's charge to 
the Ephesians; wherein he, speaking by 
the power of the Holy Ghost, commands 
those who have stolen to steal no more, 
"but rather let him labor, working with 
his hands the thing which is good, that he 
may have to give to him that needeth;" 
this I felt was a distinct and personal 
message to me and all of my kind. 

The president of the Chicago Boston and 
Liverpool Refrigerator Car Co., for whom I 
worked for some time, was urgent in his 
expressed wish that I should enter the 
field of mission and evangelistic labor, but 
at the risk of offending him, I was obliged 



TOM FOGARTY 277 

to deny his proffers of help, because I be- 
lieved that a powerful ingredient for 
good in my testimony and in my appeals 
to former associates, especially, was the 
fact, which I have always emphasized, that 
salvation for me meant not only peace and 
freedom from former habits, but also the 
power to earn my daily living by daily 
labor. 

God has wonderfully blessed me. He 
has given me physical health and has re- 
newed my youthful vigor. I am now in 
my fifty-third year and feel to be at least 
ten years younger than at the time of 
my conversion. I was a lonely man, with- 
out kith or kin. He has brought love and 
love-ties into my life. It hasbeenmy blessed 
privilege to be permitted to speak before 
many thousands of people, in churches, 
missions, assemblies and on street corners, 
and God has given to me the felicity of 
seeing good fruits therefrom. 

One of the temptations against which I 
have had to contend has been the well 
meaning but, I believe, unwise advice of 
Christians. Again and yet again I have 
been exhorted to let the dead past bury 
its dead, in the sense that I should not go 
into details, but, if I wished to testify, 
content myself with the admission that I 
had been a great sinner, yet God had 
saved me. Sometimes they would go so 
far as to argue that my testimony would 
inevitably prove detrimental to success in 
making a living. That it would even prove 



278 TOM FOGARTY 

a barrier to close friendship. But I felt 
that I must tell my story whatever the re- 
sult might be, and, of course, I have 
found the facts to be just the opposite of 
their prediction. 

It was to be expected that I would ex- 
perience difficulty and up-hill work 
in winning my way into any position of 
trust or where my fellow-workmen were 
particular as to the antecedents of their 
associates. I knew myself to be an ac- 
curate and rapid accountant and book- 
keeper, but employers needing the service 
of such are justly careful to enquire as to 
former employment and character of ap- 
plicants for the position. I could scarcely 
refer them to a state's prison contractor 
for proof of my ability. Again, I was thor- 
oughly determined to testify, in season 
and out of season — if that be possible — to 
the saving mercy of God and of the depth 
of degradation and sin out of which His 
grace had raised me. The result would 
inevitably be that some* one in the office 
would naturally object to being associated 
on equal terms with a self-confessed ex- 
criminal and ex-convict. I foresaw and 
expected these difficulties and others of 
the same general tenor, but I was not dis- 
mayed. From the first I believed, as I still 
believe, that God had a work for me to 
perform; and that the way would be 
opened for the accomplishment of His 
design when the proper time arrived. I 
enjoyed the exquisite thought that the 



TOM FOGARTY 279 

remnant of my ill-spent life was being 
mapped out and fashioned by the loving 
hand of the omnipotent God of the uni- 
verse. 

In His own good time He led me to the 
position I now occupy. Two years and 
eight months ago, as I write, I was given a 
temporary position to address envelopes, 
etc. It was understood that my engage- 
ment was not permanent, but I felt very 
glad to be able to lay by a little for the 
approaching winter, and I was elated to 
think that although in a minor position, I 
was helping to send abroad into thousands 
of homes some message of God's infinite 
love. 

The outcome has been more of a sur- 
prise and wonder to me than even to the 
many friends who have been lovingly 
watching my life. Instead of being a 
menace to society, hunted from pillar to 
post, ordered out of town, literally told to 
"get off of the earth," I have won the love 
and respect of a host of friends and hold a 
position of influence and respectability in 
the community. I have a happy home, and 
my only care and sorrow is that I have 
not served Him better. This, and a 
thousand fold more, Almighty God hath 
done for me. He brought me up also out 
of an horrible pit, out of the miry clay, 
and set my feet upon a rock, and estab- 
lished my goings. To Him be all the 
glory. 

My story is done. My constant prayer 



28o 



TOM FOGARTY 



is that God may use it to His glory and the 
salvation of others, whether their early 
lot in life was surrounded by careful, lov- 
ing attention and watchful affection, or 
even if their environment or life story was 
as dark as that of Tom Fogarty. 




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